


Dick Grayson, Matchmaker

by orphan_account



Category: DCU, DCU (Comics)
Genre: First Kiss, First Time, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Matchmaking, Vacation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-05
Updated: 2016-11-25
Packaged: 2018-08-19 15:59:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 25,007
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8215736
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Dick is tired of watching Bruce and Clark circle around each other, neither of them willing to make the first move. So he decides to give their relationship a little push.





	1. Reading the Signs

**Author's Note:**

> This is my second multichapter SuperBat fic, based on an idea I've had floating around for a few months but only just figured out how to execute. If you've read my stuff before, you know I love romance clichés and my stories typically have minimal plot. If you haven't read my stuff before, well, consider yourself warned. Comments and kudos are appreciated, of course. Enjoy!

In his world of vigilantes, metahumans, aliens, and wacky, themed supervillains, there was very little of which Dick Grayson felt he could be certain. Not even death was absolute; one minute, the entire world watched as one of their fearless heroes died before their very eyes, wiped off the face of the earth like a bug on the windshield of life, and the next, said hero would be back on their feet, kicking ass and taking names like nothing had happened. It seemed like half of Dick’s family had at one point “died” and come back to life. And almost everyone Dick associated with in his former gig, as Robin, and his current gig, as Nightwing, had a secret identity, himself included, so there was very little he really knew about any of their personal lives, their day jobs, where they lived, who they dated.

The life of a superhero, in other words, was a life of uncertainty. It was rare, then, that Dick felt secure enough to say that he was sure, beyond the shadow of a doubt, of anything at all. That being said, amidst the chaos that was his life, Dick Grayson was one hundred percent, absolutely certain of at least one thing: That his guardian and mentor, Bruce Wayne, had a thing for Clark Kent.

It was by no means obvious. No, Bruce Wayne had a tendency to play things close to the vest, and it seemed only Alfred knew the man well enough to consistently know how he was feeling. But Dick had two key advantages where Bruce and Bruce’s emotions were concerned. First, he knew Bruce better than almost anyone else. With years of practice behind him, Dick was confident that he could tell what Bruce was thinking and feeling a good forty or fifty percent of the time, which was pretty damn good, all things considered.

Second, Dick was a rather good detective. Of course he was; he was trained by none other than the Batman himself. So when he watched Bruce and Clark interact, his deductive skills were sharp enough to detect what was _really_ going on. Sharp enough to detect that Bruce was head-over-heels for the Man of Steel.

Even better, it _seemed_ like Clark was also romantically interested in Bruce. It was harder to tell where Clark was involved, partly because Dick didn’t know him nearly as well as he knew Bruce, and partly because Clark was so nice to everyone. When he interacted with Bruce, was he just being friendly, or was he flirting? But the way Clark looked at Bruce when he thought no one was looking… he had to be attracted to Bruce. The two of them were crushing hard on each other. The only problem?

Dick was the only one who knew it.

For months, he sat on this information, not knowing quite what to do with it, if anything. Sure, he could tell Bruce, but what would that accomplish? Surely Bruce was already aware of his own attraction; he wasn’t _that_ emotionally maladjusted. If Dick made it known that he, too, was aware of said attraction, it would likely only increase Bruce’s stubborn resolve not to act on it. That was just the way Bruce worked. Unfortunately.

So Dick simply stood by, watching day after day as the unresolved sexual tension between Bruce and Clark built and built until he started to wonder how it was even physically possible that the two of them could continue to ignore this obvious thing between them. He watched them bicker, Bruce flinging insults that bounced off Clark’s chest like so many bullets, his sarcasm an obvious mask for the mess of feelings that lay just beneath the surface. Honestly, the more Dick listened to Bruce and Clark’s arguments, the more they sounded to his ears like nothing more than thinly veiled flirting.

“I told you, I had the situation under control.”

Speak of the devil. Dick sighed and turned around in the swivel chair he was sitting in, watching security camera footage on a series of giant monitors in the Batcave. Barbara was busy with the Birds of Prey, which meant Dick was tragically lacking in tech support. He rubbed his eyes, grimacing against the headache pounding against his skull. He’d meant to go upstairs and pop some aspirin, but that had been over an hour ago. Needless to say he’d lost track of time.

“Sure,” Clark said, and even though shadows veiled Bruce and Clark’s faces, Dick could hear Clark’s eye roll in the tone of his voice. “If by ‘under control’ you mean you were falling to your death. What was I supposed to do? Let you die?”

The pair of them stepped into the glow of the artificial lights hanging overhead. Bruce was pulling off his cowl to fully reveal his scowling face. “How many times do I have to tell you not to interfere in Gotham?”

“How many times do I have to tell _you_ I’m _not_ ‘interfering,’ I’m saving your _life_?” Clark heaved a sigh and looked up to where Dick sat, observing them silently. He gestured to Bruce, exasperated. “Is he always this stubborn?”

Dick grinned. “You know the answer to that.”

Clark turned back to Bruce, clapping him once on the shoulder. Bruce winced. He wasn’t exactly the touchy-feely sort, not even when it came to casual gestures between friends. “I’m sorry, Bruce, but if I sense you’re in danger, no amount of complaining is going to keep me from flying to Gotham to save you. It’s just not. You mean too much to me.”

Dick shifted in his seat. He was starting to get the distinct impression that he was intruding on an intimate moment. He got that feeling a lot, lately, around Bruce and Clark. Just another confirmation that the two of them were totally meant to be.

Bruce didn’t answer except to grunt noncommittally. He was so clearly out of his comfort zone, what with the sudden emotional turn the conversation had taken. After a long pause in the conversation, he finally spoke. “I guess I may as well stop telling you not to do it again, then,” he said lowly, “Since apparently you’re just going to ignore me.”

Clark smirked. “Pretty much.”

For several long seconds, the two men just stared at each other. Or rather, Clark stared at Bruce, and Bruce stared at a point just beyond Clark’s shoulder.

“Alright then,” Clark said, his voice jarringly loud in the silence of the cave. “I should probably head back to Metropolis. Not all of us can afford to sleep in past noon every day.”

See, this was the problem with the two of them. The minute things started to get serious – such as Clark admitting that he cared about Bruce, which really shouldn’t have been a groundbreaking confession were it not for Bruce’s stubborn refusal to believe that anyone in this world actually gave a shit about him – Bruce would shut down. And, being the veritable saint that he was, Clark would always give Bruce an out. Some way to escape the situation quickly and painlessly, instead of doing what Dick thought Clark _should_ do, which was stand firm and force Bruce to confront his emotions head-on. That way, the pair might actually be able to work out some of the tension between them, instead of letting it stew, like they always did.

What Bruce and Clark needed, Dick decided, was to be trapped for an extended period of time together. They needed to spend time together, without work or any other responsibilities providing them something to escape to. Unfortunately, Dick couldn’t think of a lot of ways to accomplish that. It would require some sort of cliché romance scenario: Bruce and Clark locked in a closet, maybe, or trapped by a snowstorm.

A snowstorm…

Dick grinned to himself. Now that was an idea.

He couldn’t, though. …Could he? It would be meddlesome of him, and while that normally wouldn’t stop him, it seemed like interfering in someone’s love life – particularly Bruce’s – was going too far. But if Dick _didn’t_ interfere, what would happen? Nothing! For months, maybe years. Maybe – God forbid – forever. Bruce and Clark would just keep circling around each other, Bruce too stubborn to make a move, Clark unsure whether Bruce reciprocated his feelings and unwilling to compromise their friendship and working relationship by taking a chance.

Yes, Dick decided. He was going to have to take drastic measures if Bruce and Clark were ever going to have a chance of ending up together. He refused to stand by and watch Bruce grow old alone because he persisted in believing that he didn’t deserve happiness or companionship or love. It wouldn’t be right.

So Dick began to formulate a plan as he listened to Bruce and Clark wrap up their conversation. He didn’t have long; he was going to have to act quickly. Luckily, Bruce had taught him how to think on the fly.

“I’ll see you at the League meeting Friday, right?” Clark was saying.

“Of course,” Bruce said shortly. It was clearly a dismissal. Clark hesitated for a moment, looking like he wanted to say something to Bruce before he left, but apparently he decided against it. With one last, final nod, he turned, took off, and flew out of the cave. Dick pretended not to notice the way Bruce’s eyes followed Clark’s ass the entire time.

Once Clark was gone, Bruce approached Dick, looking over his shoulder at the monitors. The security footage showed glimpses of some of Gotham’s criminal hotspots, of which there were many. “What are you looking for?”

“I’m trying to fill in the missing pieces of this Two-Face dilemma I’ve run into,” Dick said vaguely. “I’ve been staring at security cam footage for hours. So far, nothing useful. I’ve seen so many drug deals.” He shook his head, resting his chin in his hand and returning his attention to the monitors. “ _So_ many.”

Bruce checked the time in the top right corner of one of the monitors. In a few hours, it would be dawn. “It’s late,” he said. “You should turn in for the night. You can continue this tomorrow.”

Dick smiled over his shoulder at his former guardian. “Yeah, okay,” he said, stifling a yawn. He’d been up all night, and his exhaustion was just beginning to hit him. As Bruce turned and began to leave, likely intent on taking a shower before sleeping late into the afternoon, Dick called out to him: “Bruce, wait.”

Bruce looked at him expectantly. Dick took a breath. Was he really going to do this?

Yes. Yes, he was.

“I wanted to talk to you about our vacation next month,” Dick said, referring to the annual Wayne family ski trip to the Alps. It was one of Dick’s favorite traditions, probably because it was one of the few Wayne family traditions that didn’t involve fighting crime. He had fond childhood memories of Bruce teaching him how to ski on the slopes, of sipping hot cocoa in a luxury ski resort, of pelting Bruce with snowballs, red-faced from laughter and cold mountain air. It would be the perfect place to kick start Bruce and Clark’s relationship.

“What about it?” Bruce asked.

“Would it be okay if I invited someone to… tag along?” Dick carefully hid any trace of mischief from his voice, though he evidently wasn’t entirely successful, judging by the suspicious way Bruce raised a single, perfect eyebrow.

Bruce considered Dick’s request, arms crossed over his chest. Finally, he nodded. “That’s… fine, I guess,” he said. “Just don’t tell the others, or they’ll all want to bring someone. And it’s too late for us to book another room; whoever it is will have to share your room.”

“Fine by me,” Dick said. He fought a grin. This was almost too perfect. “Thanks.”

A neutral “hm” was Bruce’s only response.

* * *

The next day, Dick invented a flimsy excuse to drive to Metropolis in the evening, when he knew Clark would be home from work. He found parking on the street – a small miracle, he knew – and went up to Clark’s apartment.  


He’d been there once before – it was how he knew where to find the place – but not for a long time. So Clark’s surprise when he answered the door and saw Dick standing there, idly spinning his key ring on his finger, was pretty much to be expected.

“Dick!” Clark said, eyebrows drawn together in confusion. “What are you doing here?”

“Hey, Clark,” Dick said. He peered over Clark’s shoulder, saw that the man’s modest apartment was empty. “Can I come in?”

“Of course.” Clark stepped aside to let Dick cross the threshold into the apartment’s combined kitchen and living room, shutting the door behind him. “You want something to drink?”

“Nah, I won’t be long,” Dick said. “I just came by with an invitation.”

“Oh?” Clark took a seat at his kitchen table, and Dick joined him. There was a rather unspectacular view of the street below, along which cabs and cars crawled through the tail end of rush hour traffic. “Is Bruce hosting a charity gala at the manor?”

“No, actually. Well, yes, he’ll be hosting one right around Christmas, but that’s not what he asked me to invite you to. He asked me to invite you to join us next month on our family ski trip.”

Clark’s eyebrows shot up, reacting to his second surprise of the evening. “Bruce asked you to invite me?” he asked first, because they both knew that was the truly unbelievable part of this situation. “Your family ski trip?”

“Yeah, every year we all go to Switzerland after Christmas, spend the New Year there,” Dick explained. “And this year, Bruce thought you might want to come.”

“Really?” Clark’s skepticism showed in the quirk of his mouth, smirking at the idea of Bruce even thinking to extend such an invitation. Dick knew this was going to be a hard sell, even for a guy as trusting as Clark.

“Yes,” he said adamantly. “You’re a friend of the family, Clark. We like having you around. And besides, sometimes Bruce needs someone closer to his own age around, to balance out the rest of us.” He paused, letting this information sink in. “Come on, Clark. It’ll be fun!”

Clark shrugged, apparently accepting this explanation, at least enough that he didn’t continue to question Dick. “It does sound fun,” he admitted tentatively. “And I’ve never been skiing before.”

“Well, Bruce is a great instructor,” Dick said. “If you don’t mind a little tough love, that is.”

Clark considered Dick’s proposal before slowly nodding. “Alright,” he said. “Yeah, I’d love to come. What day do you leave?”

“The twenty-eighth. That work for you?”

“Yeah. I’m spending Christmas in Smallville, but I’ll be back by then.”

Dick grinned genuinely. His plan was coming together flawlessly. “Great!” he said, standing from his chair, already ready to leave. He’d done what he’d come to do. “Be at the manor at five. In the morning,” he clarified. “We’ve got an early flight.”

“I’ll be there,” Clark said. “Can’t wait.”


	2. Plus One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've already got an idea for another SuperBat fic after this, which means I'm going to try to write this one really quickly. So that's good news for you guys.

“What are we waiting for? Let’s go already.”

Damian’s voice echoed off the high ceilings of Wayne Manor’s entrance hall, where the family, minus Tim, stood with their suitcases, their well-dressed group a chorus of yawns. Most of them hadn’t slept more than an hour or two the night before. Bruce knew Cassandra hadn’t slept at all; she’d come straight from patrolling, showered, gotten her things together, and joined the others. They were waiting for Tim to finish packing, a task he’d put off until the last minute, citing Teen Titans business as the reason for his procrastination, though they all knew the true culprit was more likely poor planning on his part.

“Tim isn’t here yet,” Bruce pointed out, even he knew Damian was already aware of this.

“We could leave him behind,” Damian said hopefully.

Just as Bruce suspected. He suppressed a roll of his eyes. “No,” he said firmly. He heard Damian give a small, disappointed huff. He ignored it.

“Besides,” Dick added brightly, somehow managing to sound like a normal human being despite the early hour, a feat Bruce could never pull off, “We’re still waiting on one other person.”

Jason lifted his head from where he was lazily hanging upside down off an armchair in the adjacent room. “Who else is coming?” he demanded. “Because if Tim was allowed to invite one of the Titans and I wasn’t allowed to invite Roy—”

The doorbell rang, interrupting Jason’s budding argument before anyone else could pick it up. _Thank God._ Bruce didn’t think he could stand listening to his children bicker all the way to the airport. “Ah, there he is,” Dick said. A smile flashed across his face. Bruce’s eyebrows drew together.

“‘He’?” he asked, surprised. “I thought you invited Barbara.” Who else would Dick have invited? Did the kid have a boyfriend Bruce didn’t know about? What kind of a father didn’t even know who his oldest adopted son was dating?

“Huh?” Dick glanced over his shoulder at Bruce, registering what he’d said. “Oh, no, Babs is spending the holidays with her family.” Dick opened the door, and Bruce subtly leaned over his suitcase to see who it was.

A broad chest filled the doorway, bundled up in a coat and scarf to guard against the winter chill. The face attached was one Bruce knew well, with its strong jaw and dark hair slightly tousled from flying. Bruce frowned.

Dick invited Clark? Why would he do that? Sure, Clark was a friend, both of Bruce and of Dick, and, in fact, of the entire family. But Dick didn’t have any reason to take such a special interest in him, to the point of inviting him to join the Waynes on one of their annual family vacations. At least, Bruce couldn’t think of such a reason.

In fact, if Bruce didn’t know any better, he might think Dick was deliberately trying to sabotage Bruce’s vacation. But that couldn’t possibly be the case. First, because it simply wasn’t the sort of thing Dick – by far the nicest of Bruce’s children – would ever do. Second, because Dick had no way of knowing that inviting Clark to join the Waynes on a family vacation would have any detrimental effects on Bruce. As far as Dick knew, Bruce and Clark were merely friends. Which they were. But… Bruce was having an increasingly difficult time ignoring the fact that, at least on his end, there was something a bit… _more_ to their relationship.

He’d first noticed it almost a year ago, not coincidentally after Clark and Lois had broken up. Bruce had always been aware that Clark was physically attractive, with his strong features, boyish smile, and a body most human men would kill for. But initially, Bruce hadn’t much liked Clark. Now that the pair were friends, Bruce could no longer ignore what a genuinely kind, friendly person Clark was, and how much Bruce enjoyed spending time with him, utterly despite himself. Spending an entire week’s worth of vacation time in the mountains, far from the distractions of Gotham and the Justice League, would make ignoring it even more difficult. And that… that was a problem.

Because Bruce had to ignore his feelings for Clark. It was highly unlikely Clark felt the same way, and even on the slim chance that he did, any relationship between the two of them would be extremely complicated. It would distract from their work in Gotham and Metropolis, respectively, and with the League. Which wasn’t acceptable.

Bruce turned his attention to Dick, shaking his head. This kid had no idea what he’d just gotten Bruce into.

“Hey, Clark!” Dick was saying. He grinned broadly, the selfsame grin gossip magazines routinely described as “disarming” or even “heart-stopping,” and invited Clark to step inside, into the relative warmth of the house.

Damian shot up in his seat on the sofa in the next room; he looked scandalized. “Clark? Clark _Kent_? The alien? Why is he—?”

Cassandra silenced Damian with a pillow to the back of his head. Damian turned to glare at her, momentarily distracted, Jason cackling in the background, and Bruce turned his attention to Clark, still trying to figure out what the fuck Dick was thinking.

“Hey, Dick,” Clark said with a smile that rivaled even Dick’s in its brilliance. He then turned that smile to Bruce. “Bruce,” he said with a nod, which Bruce returned. Clark looked around, taking in the faces of the rest of the family. “Where’s Tim?” he asked.

“Holding up the entire vacation,” Damian’s voice rang out unapologetically.

Clark held up his rolling suitcase one-armed. “I hope I didn’t pack too light,” he said. “I’ve never been skiing before. Didn’t know what to bring.”

“As long as you brought warm enough clothes, you’ll be fine,” Dick assured him.

A loud clattering interrupted the conversation from the stairs, followed by Tim’s appearance in the hallway, dragging his suitcase. “Okay,” he said, “I’m ready to—” He looked up, saw Clark, and stopped in his tracks. “Uh, what’s Clark doing here?”

“He’s coming with us,” Dick said smoothly. His tone said, “I’ll fill you in later.”

Tim shrugged. “Um. Okay.”

Damian hopped to his feet impatiently. “Let’s go!”

Bruce subtly grabbed Dick’s arm before he could leave with the others, holding him back forcefully. His face was neutral, but he gave Dick a look all his children knew well, a look that meant, “You are in so much trouble.” Bruce glanced out the door at Clark, who was helping everyone load their suitcases into the pair of shiny black cars they’d be driving to the airport.

“We’ll talk about this later,” he growled lowly, knowing full well Clark could hear every word. Damn super senses.

Dick gave him a cheeky grin, wrenched his arm from Bruce’s grasp, and followed the rest of the family out to the cars. Bruce’s glare followed him the entire way.

* * *

Most of the kids conked out before the Wayne family private jet even reached cruising altitude. Jason was slouched in his chair with his legs sprawled at odd angles in front of him, snoring loudly. Cassandra was curled up in a tight ball across from him, the hood of her jacket obscuring her face. Tim’s feet were propped up on Damian’s armrest, a fact Damian might have thrown a fit about had he not been too exhausted to notice. Dick, meanwhile, was directly across from Bruce and Clark, who sat facing each other across a table set with their breakfast of Belgian waffles and coffee.

“This is exciting,” Clark said, keeping his voice low to avoid disrupting anyone’s sleep. He gestured with his fork as he spoke. “I’ve never been to Switzerland before. Lois has; she gets all the exciting foreign news stories. Meanwhile, I’m the go-to guy for Superman coverage.”

Bruce hummed unsympathetically. “I’m sure you brought that on yourself.”

Clark chuckled, took a bite. There was a short stretch of silence while he chewed and swallowed. “So,” he continued after a swig of coffee diluted with so much milk Bruce almost didn’t feel right calling it coffee, “You guys do this every year?”

“Ever since I was a child,” Bruce said, lowering his gaze to his plate of food, still mostly untouched.

“Your, uh…” Clark hesitated, then, “Your parents take you?”

One of Bruce’s eyebrows quirked. That was gutsy of Clark. No one ever asked him about his parents. No one even mentioned them. Alfred, occasionally, but even then…

“Yes.” He made it clear in his tone that this wasn’t a topic he was interested in pursuing. Clark picked up on his discomfort right away and changed the topic.

“I noticed Alfred isn’t joining us,” he said.

“He’s taking his own vacation. Visiting old friends in England.”

“Good.” Clark smiled. “I imagine he’s relieved to be away.”

“Only because he knows I’ll be thousands of miles from Gotham and unable to get myself into any danger,” Bruce said. “He never vacations when the rest of us are in Gotham, even though I encourage him to. He can’t stand the idea that something bad might happen while he’s away.”

“Frankly, I’m surprised you’re willing to leave Gotham for this long,” Clark said.

Bruce grimaced. Clark was right; he didn’t like leaving Gotham. But the kids deserved a vacation, and a part of Bruce didn’t like to break a tradition his parents had established so many years ago. Even that small thing would feel like one more part of them was gone forever. “I trust Batwoman to keep the place from falling apart,” he said. “And Oracle, and Bluebird, and Huntress. And I always inform Diana when I’m going to be away, in case one of the more high-profile villains decides to become active while I’m gone.”

“Well I think it’s good that you let yourself take a break every now and then,” Clark said, finishing off the last of his waffle. He eyed Bruce’s still mostly full plate with barely concealed concern. Bruce took another bite, just to make Clark stop _looking_ at him like that. “You deserve it.”

Bruce shifted in his seat. They would have to agree to disagree there. Even knowing Gotham was in good hands in his absence, a part of him felt guilty leaving the place, even just for a week.

When Bruce didn’t say anything to push the conversation forward, Clark once again changed the subject. “So, then, you like skiing?” he asked.

“I do.”

“And you’ve taught all the kids how to do it?”

“Damian’s still learning. But yes.” Damian actually hated skiing. He would likely be spending the majority of their vacation in the lodge, bundled up under a pile of blankets in front of the fire, drinking far more hot cocoa than was strictly healthy.

Clark grinned. “Then you’ll have no trouble teaching me,” he said.

Bruce looked up at him, and the corner of his mouth quirked in a barely contained smile. Sometimes Clark’s happiness was just too contagious to resist. “I don’t know,” he said. “It might be hopeless to even try. You are from Kansas. It’s pretty flat out there.”

“Luckily I have plenty of experience with heights,” Clark quipped back, grin widening at Bruce’s teasing. Clark seemed to genuinely enjoy Bruce’s subtle sense of humor. Which was strange. Not many people did.

“That’s true,” Bruce acknowledged. He finally finished his breakfast. He hadn’t even realized he’d been eating so much until he looked down and it was gone. “And if worst comes to worst, there’ll be other things to do besides ski.”

“Oh yeah?” Clark looked at him with interest. That was another thing about Clark: When you spoke to him, you had his undivided attention. At first, Bruce had found that unnerving. Lately, though, he was actually kind of enjoying it. He didn’t like to think about what that meant for him. Nothing good. “Like what?”

“The resort has a bar,” Bruce said. “And a spa.”

“I’ve never been to a spa,” Clark said. “And… now that I think about it, I don’t think you and I have ever been drunk together.” Now that sounded like a terrible idea if Bruce had ever heard one.

“This vacation will just be full of firsts for you, won’t it?” Bruce said. Clark grinned again, and Bruce seriously wished he would stop doing that.

“I guess so.”

* * *

A pair of cars took the Waynes and Clark to the resort they’d be staying at. It was a classy place, rustic looking, with an impressive backdrop of snow-covered mountains framing it from every angle. Clark visibly gaped at the sight.

“This place is gorgeous,” he said, stepping out of the car. The drivers started unloading their suitcases. Clark turned to Bruce, gesturing to his suitcase as they started toward the front entrance. “Need any help with that?”

Bruce leveled him with a withering look. “No.”

Clark rolled his eyes. “Of course not.”

They checked in at the front desk and then found their rooms, which shared a lounge area between them with a large stone fireplace. “You’ll be in a room with Dick,” Bruce told Clark when they arrived. “There wasn’t enough time to book you a room of your own when he invited you.”

“Oh, that’s perfectly fine,” Clark said. “This is lovely.”

Bruce pulled Dick aside, his glare from earlier that morning returning in full force. “You’re coming with me,” he said.

Dick followed him out of their rooms and down the elevator to the lobby, far enough away from Clark that he couldn’t hear them unless he purposefully tried to listen in, which Bruce knew he wouldn’t. He was far too polite and respectful.

“Why on Earth did you invite him?” Bruce demanded once they were alone.

Dick shrugged easily. Bruce’s intimidation routine no longer worked on him; it hadn’t in years. “He’s a friend of the family. And he’s _your_ friend. I thought you might enjoy having him here. Besides,” Dick caught Bruce’s gaze and put on a mock serious tone, “The man’s never been skiing before. _Clearly_ we had to remedy that.”

Bruce’s glare intensified.

“Oh, and uh, one more thing,” Dick added. “I told Clark it was your idea to invite him.”

“Why would you do that?” Dick was really starting to cause problems here. This wasn’t like him. Bruce wanted to shake him by his shoulders and demand, “What has gotten into you?” Miraculously, he showed restraint.

“You’re better friends with him than I am,” Dick said. “I figured he’d be more likely to say yes if he thought you were the one asking.”

Bruce sighed. “If him being here causes any problems…”

“I know. I’ll accept full responsibility.” Dick held his hand on his heart like he was swearing it. “But it won’t. I _promise_ you it won’t.”


	3. Mountain Air

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this one took me a while! It's a bit of a filler chapter, and I am just horrible at writing those. I promise things kick up a notch in the next chapter. I've actually written the dialogue for the rest of this fic... it turned out a lot longer (and more dramatic) than I expected. Hopefully that's a good thing. Oh, also, I've never actually been skiing before... don't know why I chose a ski vacation for this fic; it just seemed like a rich person thing to go skiing in Switzerland.

Dick, Tim, Jason, and Cassandra sat in a crooked semicircle in front of the fireplace, bundled in blankets and drinking beer Jason stole from downstairs. The “killjoy oldest sibling” part of Dick wanted to scold Jason for stealing and then distributing alcohol to minors, but he decided against it, knowing that it wouldn’t do any good. Besides, it was pretty good beer.

“Alright, Grayson,” Jason said, taking a swig. He crossed his arms over his knees and leveled Dick with a serious look. “Talk.”

Dick feigned innocence, just to be obstinate. He grinned over his bottle. “I have no idea what you’re referring to,” he said cheekily.

Jason played along. “I’m referring to the fact that _Clark_ is taking a vacation with us and, until today, you were the only one who knew about it. Which means you must’ve invited him.” Jason paused, squinting at Dick. “Why?”

Dick’s grin widened. “Guess.” These guys were smart. They could figure it out, if they hadn’t already.

Jason turned to Tim, nudging him with his elbow. “You’re the best detective here, Tim,” Jason said. “I bet you’ve figured it out.”

Tim met Dick’s gaze steadily, taking a long drink. “You’re playing matchmaker,” he said. It wasn’t a question.

Jason grinned. “I knew it,” he said, shaking his head. “Devious, Dick. Devious. Do you really think it’ll work?”

“No way,” Tim interrupted before Dick could answer. “Bruce is too stubborn.”

“He’s already starting to crack,” Dick said, disagreeing with Tim. “Clark is just too perfect to resist. I can hardly blame him. If I were five or ten years older, I’d go for Clark too.” He paused, finished his beer, and uncapped another bottle. “They’re right on the edge of something, those two. I can sense it. They just need a little push. Some time alone without work to distract them. No supervillains, no Justice League, no world in peril, just each other. It’ll happen.”

“Yeah, or Bruce will find out what your plan is and then you’ll be in deep shit,” Jason said.

Dick frowned. He had thought about this. He knew Bruce would be majorly pissed if he learned of Dick’s meddling. Dick wasn’t sure what he would do if that happened. Catch the first flight back to Gotham, probably. “I’m banking on him being too distracted to put it together,” he admitted. Jason laughed.

“Man, this is gonna backfire in ways you can’t even imagine,” Jason said, ever the pessimist. Dick rolled his eyes.

“I happen to think it’ll all work out perfectly,” he said, though at this point he felt like his chances were probably somewhere around fifty-fifty.

“Yeah, sure,” Jason said sarcastically. “They’ll be fucking by the end of the week.”

Cassandra grimaced at the thought of her adoptive father getting it on with… well, anyone, probably. Dick had to admit he wasn’t too keen on the mental image either. “If they could just _acknowledge their feelings_ for each other by the end of the week, I’d count that a success.”

“You’re sure Clark feels the same way?” Tim asked.

“Would I have ever gone through with this if I wasn’t sure?” No. He wasn’t sure. Not one hundred percent. But he wasn’t going to admit that. He was sure _enough_. Although having Jason and Tim point out all the flaws in his plan was beginning to worry Dick. Perhaps he hadn’t thought this through enough…

But it was too late now. No turning back. Either things would work out, or they wouldn’t.

He just hoped he wasn’t in over his head.

* * *

“Come on, Damian, it’ll be fun!”

Damian scowled. “Don’t patronize me, Grayson.”

Dick was having a difficult time convincing Damian to go skiing with him that morning. Well, perhaps “difficult” was a bit of an understatement. Damian steadfastly refused to so much as leave his room. “I am perfectly content to spend my day ordering room service and drinking hot chocolate, thank you very much,” he’d said. “This is exactly the vacation I signed up for. Not standing around in the cold for hours and falling headfirst down a mountain.” He crossed his arms over his chest and scowled, unwilling to budge.

Dick sighed. “I can’t believe you traveled four thousand miles just to lay on a bed and eat junk food. You can do that at home!”

Jason stood behind Dick, smirking at their exchange. “Need help with that?” he asked, nodding to Damian. Dick’s eyes flicked between the two of them. On the one hand, he hated to admit he couldn’t accomplish something so simple as getting Damian out of bed without needing help. He knew how to handle the kid. At least, he’d thought he did.

On the other hand, Dick needed to ensure Bruce and Clark had plenty of alone time. If Bruce got up and found Damian lounging around, he’d take Damian out with him instead of just going with Clark. But if Dick had already taken Damian, well…

Willing to sacrifice his pride for Bruce’s sake, Dick waved his hand at Jason in concession. “Fine,” he said, the tone of his voice clearly conveying that he was not in the least bit happy about this.

Jason grinned and stepped past Dick, making sure to jostle him just a tad more than necessary. “You know, Damian,” Jason said slyly, “If you don’t get off your ass and learn how to ski, Tim’s always going to be better at it than you.”

Damian’s head shot up. The idea that anyone was better than him at something was a serious blow to the kid’s pride. The idea that _Tim_ was better than him? Dick shook his head and suppressed a smile. He couldn’t believe he hadn’t thought of that. Jason was truly brilliant sometimes.

“Alright,” Damian said slowly, getting out of bed. “I suppose I’ll go skiing with you, Dick. For a few hours.”

Jason turned, winked at Dick, and sauntered out the room. “You’re welcome,” he whispered. Dick rolled his eyes.

“Alright!” Dick clapped his hands, eliciting another scowl from Damian. “Get dressed, then. Layer up. We’ll head out in…” He checked the time on his phone. “Half an hour. Have you eaten?”

“Hot chocolate,” Damian said.

“That doesn’t count as breakfast,” Dick reminded him sternly. “There’s a breakfast buffet downstairs until ten. We can eat there.”

Damian huffed, but he didn’t say anything. Satisfied, Dick left the room to get himself ready.

“Half an hour!” he called out, one last reminder, because otherwise he knew Damian would drag his feet.

“Yes, I heard you the first time!”

* * *

The slopes were just as beautiful as Dick remembered, and even though Damian complained pretty much nonstop the first hour the two of them were out, Dick found he was enjoying himself. They didn’t run into anyone else in the morning; Jason, Tim, and Cassandra were jointly taking on the more challenging slopes, and Dick had no idea where Bruce and Clark were. Hopefully having a good time.

Dick didn’t have a lot of time to worry about Bruce and Clark, though, given the frequency of Damian’s falls and the volume of Damian’s outrage each time he got a face full of snow. After a few hours on the mountain, followed by lunch, Dick and Damian went out looking for the others, eventually finding Jason and Cassandra. The four of them trudged back to the lodge together shortly before sunset and ordered room service for dinner. Tim was already there when they arrived, warming up in front of a roaring fire.

Bruce and Clark arrived to a room full of teenagers, sprawled haphazardly around the fire and surrounded by empty plates. Dick leaned his head back to look at them upside-down over the back of the armchair he was currently lounging on.

“You two were out for a long time,” he said, repressing a pleased grin. “How’d it go?”

“We would’ve come back sooner,” Bruce began pulling off layer after layer of insulating clothing, wearing the scowl that served as his default expression, “But Clark was determined to make it down the mountain without falling.”

Dick raised his eyebrows, jutting his chin toward Clark. “Did you?” It was an unrealistic expectation, but considering this was Superman they were talking about, he supposed anything was possible.

“Not exactly,” Clark admitted.

“No,” Bruce said harshly, at almost the same time. He rolled his eyes in Clark’s direction.

“Don’t look at me like that,” Clark said, grinning. “You enjoyed yourself. I know you did.” Dick covered his mouth, unable to suppress a chuckle at the obvious flirting he and the rest of the family was currently bearing witness to. Clark returned his attention to Dick, who quickly schooled his face into a neutrally pleasant expression. “How about you, Dick? How was your day?”

“Great!” he said sincerely. “Damian’s making real progress. After he was done skiing, we watched Jason and Cass race each other.”

“Who won?”

Cassandra’s voice rang out from near the window, outside of which the sky was rapidly darkening. “Me,” she said. Dick could hear the smirk in her voice. “Every time.”

Clark laughed, and Bruce looked proud. Undoubtedly he remembered teaching Cassandra how to ski when she’d first joined the family; she’d taken to it more quickly than any of them, and none of them had been the least bit surprised.

Clark and Bruce took seats next to each other – with a respectful distance between them, to Dick’s frustration – on the sofa. After several long moments, Clark turned to Bruce. “Hey, Bruce, what do you say you and I head down to the bar for some drinks?” Dick detected a note of hopefulness in his voice, and his frustration ebbed slightly. Could his grand plan finally be coming together?

No. Of course not. “I’m not really in the mood,” was Bruce’s terse reply, shutting things down immediately. Dick sighed. Classic Bruce.

“I’ll go with you, Clark,” he offered. A night of drinking with Clark would give Dick the opportunity to closely assess the situation, see what the chances were that this scheme of his would actually be successful. Maybe even give Clark a nudge in the right direction.

“Sounds good,” Clark said, friendly as ever. He stood and, on his way to the door, spared one last glance at Bruce. “Sure you don’t want to come?” he asked. Bruce leveled him with a look, before glancing at Dick. Dick tried to find some hint as to what he was thinking in his expression, but Bruce’s poker face was the stuff of legend.

“I’ll pass.”

Clark shrugged. “Suit yourself.”

* * *

They sat in a somewhat isolated corner of the bar, talking more than drinking.

Whenever Dick spent one-on-one time with Clark, he couldn’t help but think back to when he’d first met Clark, back when he was just “Superman” to Dick. He’d practically hero worshipped Superman as a kid, but look at them now, just a couple of friends. And sure, Clark was still a nigh invincible alien who could fly around the world faster than a jet and punch a meteor out of the sky, but nowadays Dick had plenty of super powered friends who could do shit like that. As jaded as it made him sound, he was kind of used to it. But that meant he could interact with a guy like Superman without inwardly (or outwardly) freaking out the whole time.

“So, how are you enjoying it out here?” Dick asked shortly after they sat down with their drinks.

“This is definitely the nicest place I’ve ever stayed,” Clark said. He glanced around, out the window behind them that looked out on the surrounding landscape. “And the mountains are beautiful.”

“How about the skiing?”

“It’s a lot harder than I thought it would be,” Clark admitted. “But I think it’ll be fun once I get the hang of it. And you were right. Bruce is a great teacher.”

“I hope he’s been behaving himself,” Dick said with a smirk, half-joking.

“Oh, give the man a break,” Clark said. “He’s not that bad. I mean, sure, he’s not the friendliest guy I know, but underneath the scowling and sarcasm, he’s genuinely good company.”

Dick just looked at Clark for a moment, his smirk transforming into a genuine smile. Sometimes he forgot what a good person Clark was. Not many people would stand up for Bruce like that, vouch for his character. Clark was one of the few. Dick could appreciate that.

“I’m glad you think so,” Dick said, his tone now more serious. “I worry sometimes with Bruce. Not everyone takes the time to get to know him. Most people are so put off by his attitude they don’t even bother to try.”

“I try to see the good in everyone,” Clark said. “And when you look for it, there’s a lot of good in Bruce.”

Dick nodded, rejoicing inwardly. He just kept finding more evidence that Bruce and Clark were perfect for each other. Despite the misgivings he’d felt the night before, when Jason and Tim had assured him his plan would almost definitely fail, Dick felt like he was really doing a good thing here, trying to bring Bruce and Clark together. They were right for each other. They’d be happy together.

“Yeah,” Dick said, deep in thought. “There is.”

* * *

The next few days passed quickly. That was always the worst part of a vacation, in Dick’s mind; they never seemed to last long enough. Before he knew it, he’d be back to Blüdhaven, fighting crime every night, occasionally popping over to Gotham when Bruce needed all hands on deck.

What was worse, his plan didn’t seem to be working very well. Dick was spending more quality time with Clark than Bruce was; on their second day of skiing, Bruce approached Dick and asked him to take over teaching Clark so Bruce could focus on Damian. Dick had protested – “But Damian did so well with me yesterday!” – but Bruce wouldn’t be dissuaded. It was discouraging, to say the least. Not that Dick didn’t have fun with Clark – he did, very much so – but it completely defeated the purpose of inviting Clark on this vacation. He’d wanted to force Bruce and Clark to spend time with each other, but now they weren’t spending _any_ time together.

It was almost like Bruce had figured out Dick’s plan, and was doing everything he could do thwart it. But that couldn’t be the case; if Bruce knew what Dick was up to, he surely would have approached Dick and probably yelled at him about it. No, Bruce was just being stubborn, like always. Dick just couldn’t figure out why Bruce would act this way. Clark was his friend! Why would Bruce refuse to spend time with one of his friends?

No, there had to be something more to this. Dick just couldn’t, for the life of him, figure out what it was.


	4. Misunderstandings and Mistakes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Check the notes at the end, especially if you've been leaving comments. Updates haven't been as frequent as I'd like them to be. School is kicking my ass and I don't have a lot of free time.

It was their fifth day in Switzerland; the week was almost over. Damian was making good progress in learning how to ski, and, according to Dick, so was Clark. But Bruce was more concerned about something else. He’d been having suspicions ever since Dick invited Clark to join them on their vacation, and Dick’s behavior since then had only confirmed them. Dick was acting strangely, that much was certain, and Bruce was fairly certain he knew why.

He’d tried to intervene subtly, at first, offering to take Damian skiing so that Dick could take over teaching Clark, refusing Clark’s repeated offers to go drinking with him so that Dick could accompany Clark instead. But it was becoming increasingly clear to Bruce that he was going to have to confront Dick about this… development if he wanted to truly help Dick out. Which he did; of course he did. He wanted Dick to be happy, even if it meant… well. Even if Bruce had to make a few personal sacrifices along the way.

Dick came back from drinking with Clark (again) late in the evening, and he disappeared into his and Clark’s shared room. Clark had not yet returned. Bruce hoped he was far enough away that his super hearing wouldn’t automatically pick up on their conversation.

For several minutes, Bruce simply stood in front of the door to Dick and Clark’s room, shoulders squared, face schooled into its usual neutral expression (or what Bruce thought was neutral, though his children repeatedly informed him it was more of a scowl, and Jason had even referred to it as “a terminal case of Resting Bitch Face” behind his back).

 _Just get it over with,_ Bruce told himself. He didn’t know why he was making this into such a big deal. It shouldn’t be. He was just trying to help Dick. And what would he really be giving up, anyway, if it worked? It wasn’t like he’d been seriously planning to make a move. In fact, this seemed like the perfect way for Bruce to finally get over this ill-conceived attraction he’d formed.

Deciding, once and for all, that what he was doing was truly what was best for everyone, Bruce raised a fist and knocked sharply on the door.

“Come in!” Dick’s voice echoed from inside. Bruce entered and shut the door behind him. He found Dick sipping hot chocolate out of a mug and reading a book he’d brought. Dick set down the book and the mug when he saw Bruce, and moved aside to make room for Bruce to sit next to him on the king sized bed.

“Dick,” Bruce said once he’d sat down, infusing his voice with all the necessary seriousness. “We need to talk.”

Bruce’s tone clearly worried Dick; he looked up at Bruce with concern in his eyes, undermining the casual tone he spoke with. “Sure thing,” he said. “What about?”

Bruce held Dick’s gaze. “I know why you invited Clark to come with us this week.”

Dick’s eyes widened, though he quickly attempted to recover and put on a poker face. “You, uh… you do?”

Bruce leveled Dick with a look that communicated that he wasn’t having any of his bullshit. It was a look he had plenty of practice with. “You haven’t exactly been subtle about it.”

“I haven’t?”

“Come on, Dick.” Bruce couldn’t help the hint of exasperation that crept into his voice. “I trained you better than this. Although I guess where matters of the heart are concerned, it’s more difficult to keep your composure.”

Dick hid a grin. “You’d know all about that, wouldn’t you?” Bruce chose to ignore this, because he really didn’t want to go into that right now. Instead, he looked straight ahead, took a deep breath, and did what he felt he had to do, as someone with Dick’s (and, he thought, his own) best interests in mind.

“He’s alone right now,” he said plainly. “If you wanted to talk to him. I think you should.” It was the perfect situation, really.

“Wait, are we still talking about Clark?” Dick sounded genuinely confused. Bruce frowned at him.

“Of course.” Dick’s look of confusion didn’t change, so Bruce continued. “Just to warn you, though, he might think you’re a little… young for him. But there’s no harm in giving it a shot.”

“Giving it a… _what_?” Dick shook his head. “I don’t… understand.”

Bruce sighed. This was even more difficult than he had anticipated. Why couldn’t Dick just make his move already? It was incredibly frustrating, waiting to see how things panned out. The sooner this matter was decided, the sooner Bruce could start really getting over Clark. Which was, of course, for the best. Things never would have worked between the two of them, anyway. “You don’t have to hide it anymore, Dick,” he said, trying to sound compassionate. “I know you’ve got a… crush on him.” God, this felt so juvenile. Was this what middle school had been like for children who’d actually had friends?

Much to Bruce’s surprise, Dick burst into loud, raucous laughter. “ _Me_?” he exclaimed, like this was the most ridiculous thing he’d heard in quite a while. Which was saying something, given the nature of their daily lives in Gotham and Blüdhaven. “A _crush_? On _Clark_?” Another bout of laughter. “‘World’s Greatest Detective,’ my ass! God, no!”

Well that just didn’t add up. If Dick didn’t have a crush on Clark… “Then why did you invite him to vacation with us?”

“What, so now a guy can’t invite his friend on a vacation without being interrogated about it? I told you from the beginning, Bruce; I thought it wouldn’t be fun. And it has been! I know I’ve enjoyed myself, and I know you have too. Even though you’ve hardly been spending any time with Clark,” he added bitterly.

“Because I thought _you_ wanted to spend time with him,” Bruce explained. And because he knew spending extensive amounts of time with Clark would only intensify his own feelings for the man… but he certainly wasn’t going to admit that to Dick.

“That’s very kind of you,” Dick acknowledged, “But completely unnecessary. Sure, I like Clark – as a _friend_ – but I don’t want to monopolize his time. Besides, you’re much closer to him than I’ve ever been. You should be the one spending time with him.”

Bruce shook his head, still unable to make heads or tails of the situation. Because if Dick _didn’t_ have a crush on Clark… “That doesn’t add up,” he pointed out. “Clark has been a friend of the family for years. Why invite him now? What changed?”

“Nothing changed. I just never thought of it until now.”

Bruce knew a lie when he heard one, especially from one of his own children. But he didn’t want to call Dick out on it just yet. He wanted to see where this led, see if he could figure out the real reason behind Dick’s latest antics. “And what led you to think of it?” he asked.

“I don’t know!” Dick was clearly feeling the pressure Bruce was putting on him. “Why do you care so much?”   _Maybe I should take it easy on him,_ Bruce thought. No need to interrogate the kid. But then again, Bruce didn’t like being lied to. And even more, he didn’t like not knowing what was going on.

“There’s something you’re not telling me,” Bruce said. “I want to know what it is.”

A long moment passed. Finally, Dick shrugged, and Bruce could tell that he was finally going to start getting some truth. “I just… wanted you to be happy,” he said.

“You wanted me to be happy,” Bruce repeated, still unconvinced, but at least they were getting somewhere. “And inviting Clark to vacation with us would make me happy? You don’t think I enjoy myself already with you and the others?”

“No, I know you like spending time with us,” Dick backtracked. “But you already spend plenty of time with us.”

“I spend plenty of time with Clark.”

“Not outside of the Justice League. Or the occasional team-up against Lex and the rogues. You never have any bonding time.”

Bonding time. Bruce frowned, mulled over the phrase in his head, and had a sudden thought. But… no, it couldn’t be. …Could it? He needed more information, he decided. “‘Bonding time’?”

“You and Clark have the potential for an amazing relationship. An amazing friendship,” Dick amended quickly, and Bruce was beginning to think he was on to something, though he _really_ hoped he was wrong. “You don’t have a lot of friends, Bruce. I worry about you.”

“I’m the one who should worry about you, Dick,” Bruce said. “Not the other way around.”

“You’re a tough guy not to worry about.”

“So inviting Clark, that was your way of trying to force me to… expand my social circle?” Bruce kept the questions coming, even though he was now fairly certain he knew what was going on here. He wanted to see how long Dick would keep lying to him. He felt a twinge of anger at the thought that Dick would deliberately deceive him like this. It wasn’t like Dick. It wasn’t like him at all.

“Exactly.”

“Why didn’t you just tell me this from the beginning?”

“I was afraid you’d be upset that I was… meddling. And let’s be fair,” Dick added quickly, pointing accusatorily at Bruce, “You probably would have been.”

“Just be glad your ‘meddling’ hasn’t had any unintended negative consequences. Yet.” He paused, letting this sink in. “And I presume your odd behavior this week has all been you trying to force Clark and I to spend more time together, and being upset when you failed to do so?”

“Right.”

Bruce nodded slowly. “I see.” He stood, paced to the window, pulled open the curtain and looked outside into the starry night sky. It was truly beautiful out there. Bruce only wished he was in the right mood to appreciate the view.

“Okay,” Dick said awkwardly from the bed after several long moments passed between them in silence. “Good. Well. I’m glad that’s settled, then.”

Bruce still didn’t say anything. He was disappointed. No… he was _angry_. He never would have imagined that Dick would do something like this. All of it was so out of character for him.

Finally, Bruce managed to reign his emotions in enough for him to speak. “You know,” he said, aware of the dangerous tone in his voice and making no effort to hide it, “That was a good recovery. I almost believed you.”

Silence. Then, softly, “What?”

Bruce turned to glare at Dick in that parental way he’d mastered long ago. “You’re still lying to me, Richard. You don’t want me to make friends. You’re trying to set me up with Clark.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” The waver in Dick’s voice betrayed him, but he persisted nonetheless. “I don’t even know if you have feelings for each other! Why would I try to set you up with someone if I don’t know if you’re even interested?”

“Stop trying to evade the question,” Bruce snapped. “You used some clever tactics, trying to throw me off. Most of what you told me was the truth, I’d wager. That you’re worried about me. That you wanted to give me and Clark… ‘bonding time.’ But you didn’t tell me everything. I thought you were pursuing Clark. But you’re only pursuing him on my behalf. Despite the fact that I never asked you to do such a thing, that you _knew_ I would object to it.”

“Okay!” Dick shouted finally, throwing up his hands. “Okay. Fine. Yes, I’m trying to set you up with Clark. And yes, it’s because I’m worried about you. I’m worried that you’re going to let this opportunity pass you by because… because that’s just what you do! Even though you’ve been into Clark for… who knows how long, maybe even the entire time you’ve known each other. Even though he clearly thinks highly of you and probably feels the same way. You still refuse to _do_ anything about it!”

“So to fix this, you decided to interfere in my personal life?”

“Only because I care about you.” Dick was standing now, defending himself vehemently. “You deserve to have a chance at a relationship here. But you aren’t going to take that chance unless it’s forced on you, because you _don’t_ think you deserve it. You think it’s better for everyone that you’re alone. So you end up depriving yourself of experiences that might be worthwhile.”

“Whether or not that’s true is none of your concern,” Bruce said. He didn’t know when Dick had started psychoanalyzing him, but he wasn’t enjoying it. His motivations were no one’s business but his own. As were his feelings. “You shouldn’t have interfered. You’re wasting Clark’s time, and mine, and putting both of us and this entire family in an unnecessary awkward situation.”

“I gave Clark a free vacation,” Dick snapped back. “That’s hardly a crime. At least he knows how to enjoy himself. In fact, the only person _not_ enjoying himself is you. Because you’re uncomfortable acknowledging your feelings for Clark.”

“What even led you to believe I _have_ feelings for him? Or that any feelings I may or may not have would be reciprocated?”

Dick shrugged. “Detective work. Observation. Deduction. I learned from the best.”

“And what have you observed?” Bruce asked lowly, standing close enough to physically intimidate Dick. “What have you deduced?”

“That you care about each other,” Dick said, unfazed by Bruce’s closeness. “That you’re attracted to one another. That you make a good team, even if you don’t always agree on everything. That you should give this thing between you a chance instead of dismissing it out of hand.”

“And how is that any of your business?”

Now Dick was shouting. Bruce could only hope the kids were still downstairs eating dinner, where he’d left them, so they wouldn’t hear. “Your happiness is my business! You’re like a father to me, Bruce. You know what it’s like to just want what’s best for someone. And maybe you don’t always go about it the right way, but the important thing is that they’re happy. The important thing, to me, is that you’re happy.”

“Tell me, Dick,” Bruce growled, frowning. “Do I look happy?”

A beat passed. “Not now,” Dick admitted.

“I don’t feel happy,” Bruce said. “I feel manipulated and betrayed. I feel like I’ve been put in a very awkward situation, Dick.”

“I’m sorry,” Dick said, and he sounded sincere. “But what else should I have done?”

“You should have left it alone.” Unable to continue this conversation any longer, Bruce turned and marched out the door, slamming it shut behind him.

He marched out to the balcony outside of his room, into the frigid night air. The cold barely fazed him. He leaned against the railing and scowled into the darkness. So Dick knew he had feelings for Clark. And presumably he’d known for a while. Bruce felt… embarrassed, actually. And angry, still. And maybe that was an extension of his own frustration at himself, for having these feelings in the first place, but it didn’t matter.

What mattered was what he was going to do next.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A few more things: First of all, one of you totally called what was going to happen here, so I guess I'm not as good at surprises as I thought. Second, for those of you who were hoping for minimal drama in this fic... sorry. I was going to have this fic be relatively drama-free, but it didn't turn out that way. Oops. Hope you enjoy it anyway.


	5. Unintended Consequences

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I actually toned down the drama in this chapter from what I originally had planned, mostly because I kind of felt bad for Clark.
> 
> Thanks to everyone who's been leaving comments so far! I don't reply to them all because I'm boring as fuck most of the time and have nothing to say but know that I appreciate them.

Dick waited several minutes after Bruce had stormed out of his and Clark’s room before emerging. His head peeked out of the doorway, looking around. Bruce was nowhere in sight. He sighed in relief.

Moments later, he heard familiar voices in the hall: Jason, Tim, Cassandra, Damian, and – _shit_ – Clark. They all entered, talking over each other, before Dick could make a move to appear casual. Five pairs of eyes fell on him, standing outside his room, looking guilty. Cassandra raised a single eyebrow. Jason raised both. Clark frowned at him and seemed to deduce that something significant had happened right before they’d arrived. His gaze swept the room, then, without saying anything to the rest of them, he made his way toward the balcony through Bruce’s room.

“What’s—?” Tim began, but Dick cut him off, holding up a hand.

“Not now,” he whispered. “Everyone stay here.” He needed to know what was happening between Bruce and Clark, particularly whether Bruce would get upset at Clark and say something he might regret later. Well, maybe Bruce wouldn’t regret saying it, but the rest of them would all regret that he’d said it.

So Dick snuck into Bruce’s room and flattened himself out against the wall next to the double doors that led out to the balcony. Clark had left one of the doors open a crack, so Dick didn’t have to strain too hard to hear what was going on out there. He heard Bruce’s voice first, a heavy tone of annoyance and bitterness hanging over it, though the outright anger had thankfully faded from it.

“Did Dick tell you you’d find me out here?” he asked.

“X-ray vision,” Clark reminded him. “What exactly _are_ you doing out here? It’s freezing out. You do realize you’re off the clock, right? No need for that regularly scheduled brooding that’s so important to keeping Gotham safe.” Dick could hear the teasing in Clark’s voice. He hoped Bruce wouldn’t react too poorly to it.

“I’m just thinking,” was all Bruce said. Dick breathed a quiet sigh of relief.

“Yeah?” Clark asked. “What about?”

“Dick,” Bruce answered, apparently deciding it wasn’t worth it to lie. Dick cringed at the mention of his name. _Please don’t tell Clark what I did. Please don’t tell Clark what I did. Please don’t—_

“What’s he done?”

“I don’t want to talk about it.” _Thank God._

“I hope it wasn’t anything too bad.”

“To be determined,” Bruce grumbled. Dick winced again. Bruce really was upset with him. Not that that hadn’t been perfectly clear when Bruce had confronted him in his bedroom, but hearing Bruce admit it to someone else somehow made it even more real.

“Should I be worried?” Clark asked. “Is someone in trouble? Do you need to call Wonder Woman?”

“I told you, I don’t want to talk about it.” The annoyance in Bruce’s voice was growing, edging into hostility. This was dangerous territory Clark was encroaching on, and he didn’t even know it. Dick wanted to burst through the door and pull him out of there, but Bruce couldn’t know he was listening to his conversation (even though Clark, with his super hearing, likely already did, but Clark was a nice enough guy not to mention it).

“Okay,” Clark conceded. “You don’t have to.”

Several long minutes passed in silence. To Dick, they felt more like hours. His heart was thumping so loudly in his chest he wondered how even Bruce didn’t hear it. Finally, Bruce heaved a sigh. Dick could even hear him shifting his weight, and he wondered if Bruce was going to come back inside. He readied himself to run out the door should that happen.

“I need you to leave,” Bruce said quietly. Dick’s heart stopped; his eyes widened. He hadn’t in a million years thought Bruce would go _that_ far. He hadn’t imagined Bruce would make Clark fly back to Metropolis, leave their family vacation before it was over. And all because of something Dick had done! Thankfully, before Clark could register what Bruce had said and what he’d meant, Bruce amended his statement: “No,” he said, louder this time. “I need to leave.”

“Tired?” Clark asked, misinterpreting him.

“No,” Bruce said, “I need to leave this resort. I need to leave Switzerland. I need to get back to Gotham.”

“Is it really that serious?”

“It has the potential to be.”

Dick leapt for the door to Bruce’s room, knowing Bruce would emerge any moment now and catch him eavesdropping. He strained to hear what Clark was saying from outside Bruce’s bedroom. Jason, Tim, Cassandra, and Damian all looked at him with varying levels of suspicion and confusion. Damian opened his mouth to speak. Jason covered it with the palm of his hand and shushed him. Damian looked indignant, but he didn’t say anything.

“Hey, whoa,” Clark was saying. Bruce and Clark were both still on the balcony; Clark had likely stopped Bruce from leaving before giving any real explanation for his behavior. “You told me yourself, you can trust Batwoman and the others to take care of Gotham while you’re gone. You even enlisted Wonder Woman to help if things really go south. What could possibly be happening in Gotham that _Wonder Woman_ couldn’t handle?”

Bruce sighed gruffly. “It’s… a personal matter.”

“Selina?” Clark guessed. “Talia?”

“ _Personal_ , Clark,” Bruce said harshly. “As in, _private_.”

Clark’s voice was filled with determination, unfazed by Bruce’s attempts to brush him off. “Well if something bad is happening in Gotham, I’m going there with you. You might need my help.”

“Goddamnit, Clark!” Bruce was shouting now. Dick screwed his eyes shut and shook his head. Oh, this was bad. This was really bad. _Don’t say anything you don’t mean, Bruce._ The last thing he wanted was for Bruce to irreparably damage his relationship with Clark by saying something particularly insulting out of anger. Anger at _Dick_ , too; not even anger directed at Clark himself.

Unfortunately, Dick was no telepath, and Bruce continued to yell at Clark, their relationship be damned: “How many times do I have to tell you to _stay out of my city_?”

“I’m just trying to be—”

Bruce raised his voice even louder. “I don’t care what you’re _trying_ to do. You’re getting in my way.” With that, the door to the balcony burst open. Dick bolted over toward the other kids, who were watching the scene unfold with wide eyes. Bruce entered the main room, fuming, Clark on his heels. He’d grabbed his suitcase on his way out, and was putting on his coat.

“I’m leaving,” he said, half to Clark, half to everyone else. Then, entirely to Clark: “Just… enjoy the rest of your vacation.”

Clark looked confused, bewildered. Dick wanted to intervene, tell him Bruce didn’t really mean anything he’d said, but he couldn’t. This was between Bruce and Clark now. Involving himself in it would only make things worse. “How am I supposed to enjoy myself if you might be in trouble?” Clark asked.

Bruce sighed. “You’ll figure it out.”

He left their rooms, the door slamming shut behind him, echoing sharply through the otherwise silent room. Everyone stared at the space Bruce had occupied mere moments ago, shocked by the unexpected turn of events. Dick could tell he still looked guilty, because everyone’s eyes then turned to him.

Clark was the first to speak. He shook his head like a disappointed father. “What did you do?” he asked. Dick looked at him apologetically, and opened his mouth to defend himself, but no words came out. Clark disappeared into his and Dick’s room.

Dick groaned, utterly overwhelmed by his own failure. Jason put a hand on his shoulder.

“I don’t wanna tell you I told you so, man, but…” He grimaced. “I told you so.”

“I think we all told him so,” Tim added.

“Why did Father leave?” Damian asked. “Why didn’t he take us with him?”

“Like he said,” Jason told him, “He’s got something personal to deal with.”

Damian frowned, clearly not pleased with this answer, but knowing he wasn’t going to get anything better. He rolled over the back of the couch he was sitting in and grumbled his way to his bedroom.

The group’s attention returned again to Dick. “So what… are you gonna do?” Cassandra asked him. Dick shrugged.

“I don’t know.” He really didn’t. “Lay low? Hope Bruce forgets about all this sooner rather than later?”

Jason scoffed. “Yeah, Bruce is totally the ‘forgive and forget’ type,” he said, voice dripping with sarcasm. Dick sighed, knowing Jason had a point. But what else was he supposed to do?

“I’ll tell you what I’m going to do,” he said, more firmly this time. “I’m going to worry about this when I get home. There’s nothing I can do about it now.”

* * *

It was February. Nearly Valentine’s Day, actually, but Dick wasn’t in the mood for romance. Nor was anyone else in Wayne Manor.

Bruce hadn’t been the same since their ski trip, when he’d learned that Dick had tried to set him up with Clark. He’d been even more withdrawn than usual, for one thing, and had a much shorter temper. And he avoided Dick whenever he could, which Dick really couldn’t blame him for. Dick tried time and time again to confront Bruce about what he’d done, but Bruce was keeping himself busy with Wayne Enterprises during the day and fighting crime at night, even more so than usual. He didn’t give himself a single moment of free time.

Thinking he might be able to corner Bruce if he hung around in the Batcave long enough, Dick came cut his patrol of Blüdhaven short one night and headed over there just a few hours before dawn. It was around the time Bruce usually turned in for the night (or morning, technically). He sat around for an hour or so, yawning into his hand, waiting. If he could just _talk_ to Bruce, he thought, and really make Bruce understand how sorry he was, then maybe he could make things right.

Unfortunately, it wasn’t Bruce who came to the Batcave that morning. It was, in fact, just about everyone else. Jason, Tim, Cassandra, and Damian arrived as a group, wearing matching serious expressions. Dick got the distinct feeling that he was in trouble, which was almost laughable, considering he was the oldest one there. And they’d already given him plenty of shit for his failed plan to get Bruce and Clark together, so there was really no need for them to confront him about it _again_.

They, however, seemed to think otherwise.

“What’s everybody doing here?” Dick asked, stifling another yawn halfway through his question.

“This is an intervention,” Jason said.

Dick laughed. He couldn’t help it. For one thing, he was unbelievably sleep deprived, not to mention the idea of his four younger siblings staging an “intervention” for him was far too hilarious. “An intervention?” he asked when he finally caught his breath. “What for?”

Damian’s glare had only intensified during Dick’s giggle fit. “Father’s been acting strangely lately,” he said, “And Todd tells me it’s your fault.”

Dick instantly sobered up. He shot a look in Jason’s direction. “You told Damian?” he asked. He’d been under the impression that they were keeping the youngest member of the family out of this one. Jason simply shrugged.

“He wouldn’t get off my back about it.”

Damian interrupted their aside, shouting at Dick. “I can’t believe you would try to set Father up with the alien!” he exclaimed. “Even I would’ve been able to tell you that would only end in disaster.” Cassandra and Tim nodded from the background.

Feeling ganged up on, Dick threw his hands in the air and surrendered. “Alright, I get it! I fucked up! But it wasn’t any worse than some of the shit you’ve all pulled.” He pointed an accusatory finger at Jason. “Especially you.”

Jason looked about ready to physically fight Dick when Tim interrupted, sticking his arm between them. “Hey!” he said. “We’re not here to fight. We’re here because Bruce hasn’t been himself lately, and Dick needs to fix it.”

“ _I_ need to fix it? Since when are Bruce’s moods _my_ problem?” This was all completely unfair. Sure, Dick had made some mistakes, but it wasn’t his fault that Bruce was overreacting.

“Since you caused one!” Jason said.

“And what, exactly, do you expect me to do about it?” Dick demanded. “I can’t go back in time. I can’t change what happened. And I can’t tell Bruce what to do or how to feel.”

“At least… apologize,” Cassandra suggested.

“You don’t think I’ve apologized already?”

“Do it better this time,” Jason grumbled.

“Just talk to him,” Tim said.

“I’ve been trying!” Dick gestured wildly around himself. “The man’s been avoiding me! Why do you think I’m standing around the Batcave at four in the goddamn morning? You don’t think I’d rather be in bed right now? I’m _trying_ to talk to him! He won’t let me!”

Cassandra seemed to consider this. “Have you tried… waiting outside his bedroom… before he wakes up?” she suggested.

Okay, that wasn’t a bad idea.

“Yeah, do that,” Tim said. “Wait outside his bedroom tomorrow. He can’t avoid you then. And if you talk to him, he’ll probably forgive you. He can’t stay mad at you forever. He can stay mad at most people forever, but not you. If he knows you’re genuinely sorry for what you did, he’ll forgive you. Which would be a step in the right direction.”

“Exactly,” Jason agreed. “I dunno what we’re gonna do about Clark though.”

Dick frowned. “What about Clark?”

“Father’s been avoiding him too,” Damian explained. “Which I don’t think is such a big deal, but everyone else seems to disagree.”

“Kon says that Clark says that the tension between him and Bruce is starting to affect the rest of the  
League,” Tim said. “They’re two of the founding members. If they can’t work together, the League is going to suffer because of it.”

“Plus Bruce has been acting like even more of an asshole than usual,” Jason added, “And I think part of it is because he hasn’t been spending any time with Clark. I think spending time with him improves his mood, and he hasn’t been getting any of that lately.”

“So, what?” Dick asked, trying to make sense of this all in his head. “You want me to convince Bruce to forgive me, and then also convince him to make up with Clark? How am I supposed to do that?”

He was met with blank looks from the rest of the group. “Yeah, that one’s for you to figure out,” Jason said. Dick glared at him.

“Gee, you’re all helpful.” His voice dripped with bitter sarcasm.

“My helpfulness was telling you your plan to get Bruce and Clark together sucked. Now, you’re on your own.”

Dick slumped down onto the floor of the Batcave, frowning. “Great.” What the hell was he going to do to fix this mess?


	6. Conflicts of Interest

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy two chapters in one day, Batman!
> 
> I'm pretty eager to finish this fic because (a) there's a chapter coming up that I'm really excited to write, and (b) I'm already working on another SuperBat fic that I'll start posting after this one is complete.

Bruce came home from patrol particularly late that night. The sun was rising over Gotham by the time the Batmobile screeched into the Batcave, and Bruce felt sore all over. He’d had a long night of facing off with the Riddler’s goons, and wanted nothing more than to shower, collapse face-down in bed, and sleep until evening the next day.

As he stepped out of the Batmobile, however, a flash of bright blue caught his eye. He turned to see Dick slumped on the floor by the wall of the cave, still wearing his Nightwing suit, save for the mask, which had fallen to the ground at his side. His head was at an odd angle, his legs splayed out on the floor in front of him. If it weren’t for the light snoring and the trail of drool making its way down his chin, he could have been dead.

Despite himself, Bruce found he couldn’t help but smile fondly at the sight of his eldest adopted child, snoozing on an unforgiving rocky floor. It reminded him of all the nights he’d gone into Dick’s bedroom when Dick was still a child to make sure the boy was sleeping, and not jumping up and down on the bed, or kept awake by nightmares.

Dick always had an uncanny ability to fall asleep in strange locations. He must have been waiting for Bruce in the Batcave when exhaustion had claimed him and he’d fallen asleep on the floor. Bruce wondered what had brought Dick here, what matter he wanted to discuss with him. Hopefully nothing too pressing. Bruce had no intention of waking Dick to speak with him; Dick clearly needed his sleep.

His own exhaustion now pushed to the back of his mind, replaced by concern for Dick, Bruce heaved Dick off the ground, careful not to wake him. Dick was a great deal heavier than he was as a child, when Bruce could lift him up and swing him over his shoulders with ease, but Bruce managed to carry Dick’s unconscious figure up to the top floor of the Manor without too much difficulty, only pausing once to catch his breath.

Dick didn’t sleep in his room at the Manor all that frequently anymore – he had his own apartment in Blüdhaven where he spent most of his time – but Alfred kept it clean and ready for him regardless. Bruce settled Dick down on top of his bed, set his mask on the adjacent nightstand, and stood back to look at him.

Bruce knew he hadn’t been particularly fatherly to Dick lately. He’d been doing his best to avoid Dick, actually; every time he saw Dick, he thought about what had happened in Switzerland, and it left a bad taste in his mouth. He felt guilty about this, actually. He knew he had a bad habit of holding grudges for too long, but he just couldn’t get past the fact that Dick had manipulated him the way he had. Still… at least Dick had meant well. Perhaps Bruce should be more forgiving.

Bruce shook his head. Now wasn’t the time to think about grudges and forgiveness. Now was the time to take a long, hot shower and go to sleep.

So he left Dick in his bedroom, sleeping soundly. He shut the door carefully behind him and crept silently down the hall, his lack of sleep once again threatening to overwhelm him.

* * *

Bruce indeed slept in particularly late the next day, not waking up until long into the afternoon. Once he’d brushed his teeth and tamed his bedhead, he stepped out into the hall, only to trip over a dark-haired lump sitting in front of his door. It was Dick, yet again. Bruce raised an eyebrow. Dick looked up from his phone, on which he’d been playing mindless games. Bruce wondered how long he’d been sitting there.

“What are you doing here?” Bruce asked, stepping carefully over Dick and shutting the door behind him. Dick got to his feet and began following Bruce downstairs to the kitchen. He was wearing clothes that looked slightly too big for him. Bruce imagined he’d woken in his Nightwing suit and realized that he didn’t have any clothes at the Manor, and had to borrow some of Jason’s. Bruce made a mental note to get Dick’s sizes so he could order some clothes to keep for him in his bedroom, in case he stayed the night again sometime soon.

“You’ve been avoiding me,” Dick said. He rubbed his eyes with the back of his hand and yawned. Bruce wondered how much sleep he’d gotten the night before. Not enough, it seemed.

“I’ve been busy,” Bruce said, hoping he might avoid this particular line of conversation. He didn’t like where it was leading; he didn’t want to talk about the reasons he was avoiding Dick, but it seemed from the determined set of Dick’s jaw that he might have to. He sighed. Alright. So be it.

Dick snorted and rolled his eyes, refusing to give Bruce an out. “Busy avoiding me,” he muttered. Bruce gave him a look.

“So you decided to ambush me outside my bedroom when I woke up?”

“I tried waiting for you in the Batcave last night, but, uh… well, you saw how that turned out.” Dick shrugged, ran a hand through his hair. “I couldn’t keep myself awake. Besides,” Dick’s voice took on a more serious tone, “This is important.”

“Oh?” They’d reached the kitchen, and thankfully, there was no one else in sight, not even Alfred. Which meant no one could hear their conversation. Bruce was relieved; he’d been hoping to keep this matter private.

Dick stuck a couple of slices of bread in the toaster and Bruce pulled the orange juice from the fridge. “I need to apologize,” Dick said, handing Bruce one of the slices once it popped out of the toaster with a ding.

“You already have,” Bruce said. He devoured his toast quickly and waited while Dick made more. He wished he could make up some excuse to leave before the conversation progressed any further, but he wasn’t even dressed; he was still wearing his pajamas. He wasn’t going anywhere, and Dick knew it. That was probably why Dick had chosen to approach him this way, Bruce would wager.

“I know,” Dick said. “But I did it selfishly. I only saw things from my point of view, and I didn’t stop to consider how you felt. I betrayed you by going behind your back and trying to manipulate you. I interfered in your personal life and made you feel awkward around Clark, just because I thought I knew what was best for you better than you did. And now you feel like you have to stay away from Clark, even if it ruins your friendship and causes problems for the League.”

Bruce narrowed his eyes at the implication that his behavior was problematic for the League. “I haven’t caused problems for—” he began, but Dick cut him off.

“You and Clark are two of the League’s founding members,” he pointed out. “If you aren’t getting along, that’s going to cause problems for everyone, even if you don’t intend it to.” He sat down at the kitchen table next to Bruce with their toast. Bruce poured him a glass of orange juice. “Besides,” Dick continued once his mouth was no longer full, “Tim says that Kon says that Clark says that there _have_ been problems.”

If there was one thing Bruce disliked about the superhero community, it was how fast gossip traveled from one hero to another. Bruce couldn’t do anything without every superhero in Gotham finding out, not to mention the Justice League and Teen Titans. For a bunch of people with secret identities, superheroes weren’t very good at keeping things a secret.

“Clark said that?” If Clark thought Bruce was causing problems, why hadn’t he confronted Bruce about it? Sure, Bruce had been avoiding him, much the same as he had been avoiding Dick, but Clark could’ve forced him to sit down and talk about this if he’d really wanted to. There wasn’t much Clark _couldn’t_ do if he really wanted to, actually.

Maybe Clark could sense that Bruce was upset about something, and was giving him space. Maybe he thought Bruce was upset with _him_ , and he didn’t want to anger Bruce further. That seemed like a Clark thing to do. He was always trying to be sensitive to other people’s feelings. It was a trait Bruce had never possessed.

“According to Tim,” Dick said. “And it’s all my fault, for trying to force you into something you weren’t comfortable with. I thought I was doing a good thing, but I didn’t stop to consider the consequences. And now everything’s fucked up between you and Clark.”

Bruce sighed. As much as he was upset that Dick had gone behind his back to try and set him up with Clark, he felt even worse that Dick was blaming himself for things that weren’t his fault. It wasn’t Dick’s fault Bruce had realized how dangerous his feelings for Clark were, how serious they’d been getting. It wasn’t Dick’s fault Bruce had decided to put some distance between himself and Clark until these inconvenient feelings went away. Assuming they ever did.

“I appreciate your concern,” Bruce said, “But you shouldn’t feel guilty. This is what’s best for everyone. You only made me realize it.”

“How is you avoiding Clark best for everyone?”

Bruce took one look at Dick’s skeptical expression and sighed again. He didn’t have to tell Dick the truth about this. He could lie, save himself the shame of admitting what he truly felt. But hadn’t they gotten into this mess in the first place because of Dick’s dishonesty? No, it wouldn’t be right for Bruce to withhold the truth from Dick. Not after the lecture he’d given him in Switzerland.

“I do have feelings for him,” Bruce admitted. The words felt heavy in his mouth. Dick looked surprised, though whether he was surprised that Bruce had feelings for Clark or simply surprised that Bruce had admitted to having feelings, Bruce didn’t know. “You were right about that. But they’re not feelings I’m proud of. They aren’t going to lead to anything good.”

“How do you know?” Dick asked. He had the same tone in his voice that he’d spoken with in Switzerland, when he’d tried to convince Bruce that what he’d done in trying to set him up with Clark was for the best, that Bruce needed to act on his feelings for Clark because everyone would be happier that way. But he was wrong. He’d been wrong then, and he was wrong now. Bruce’s feelings weren’t a good thing. A relationship between him and Clark wouldn’t be a good thing.

So that’s what he said. “It would be a conflict of interest. Clark and I both have very important responsibilities. So much of what we do is a matter of life or death. A relationship between the two of us would only distract us from those responsibilities. And if either of us are distracted at the wrong moment… people could die. It only takes one mistake for people to end up killed. I’ve learned that the hard way.” Bruce thought about his parents. He thought about Jason. He’d learned it too many times. “I don’t want to learn it again.”

For several minutes, neither of them said anything else. Even when Dick broke the silence, his voice was quieter than it was before. “I guess… you know your life better than I do,” he said slowly, like he was deciding on the words as they came out. “And I should respect the decisions you make for yourself. Even if I don’t agree with them.”

Bruce nodded. “Good,” he said. “You’re learning.”

Dick caught his gaze and cracked a small smile. “Do you think you could stop avoiding me now?” he asked.

The corner of Bruce’s mouth quirked up. He hadn’t realized how much he’d missed spending time with Dick. Of course he would stop avoiding him. But… “First, I need you to do something for me.” A part of him didn’t want to ask, but he had to. It was the right thing to do.

“Yeah,” Dick said eagerly. “Anything.”

“I need you to apologize to Clark.” Now Dick really looked surprised. “Tell him you were the one who invited him to Switzerland, and tell him why. And apologize for getting involved in his personal affairs.” Yes, Bruce knew this would mean Dick would have to tell Clark that Bruce had feelings for him. And no, Bruce didn’t want Clark to know that. It would only make things more awkward between them, and make avoiding Clark even more difficult. But Bruce wasn’t the only one who’d been wronged. He wasn’t the only one Dick had manipulated. Clark, too, deserved an apology, and even more than that, deserved to know the truth.

“Are you sure you want me to tell him?” Dick asked, likely realizing many of the same things Bruce did.

Before he could back out, Bruce nodded. “I’m sure. Do you have anything scheduled for this evening?”

“Not before patrol, no.”

“Then go tonight. I think Clark’s usually home from work around eight.”

Another long pause. Dick finally nodded. “Okay,” he said, finishing the last of his orange juice and standing to take his dishes to the sink. “I will.”

After rinsing his dishes, Dick left the kitchen, heading in the direction of the garage. Bruce remained behind, sitting at the kitchen table, mulling things over. His conversation with Dick had brought a lot of issues to the forefront of his mind that he’d been trying his best not to think about.

Before Switzerland, Bruce’s only game plan regarding Clark had been to ignore his feelings and try to behave normally around Clark, and he’d thought he’d been doing fairly well. Unfortunately, ignoring his feelings had not made them go away. By the time Dick had invited Clark to join the Wayne family on their vacation, Bruce could hardly even stand to be around him. Now that he was no longer spending time with Clark, though, he felt like he stood a legitimate chance of moving on. Sure, he’d had to give up his friendship with Clark, but it was worth the sacrifice if it meant he was no longer constantly grappling with his attraction to the man.

Wasn’t it?


	7. Confession

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Switching to Clark's POV for this chapter. Hopefully that doesn't throw off the flow of the story.

Clark hadn’t even been home from work for an hour when he heard a knock on his front door. He got up from where he was sitting on the couch, watching television while simultaneously working on a piece for the _Daily Planet_ , to answer it.

It was Dick Grayson, and Clark immediately got a feeling of intense déjà vu. A part of him wanted to tell Dick to leave right there and then, because everything had turned out _so well_ the last time he’d shown up at Clark’s apartment unannounced, but Clark could never do a thing like that. Especially not to a friend. So he plastered a smile on his face and hoped for the best.

“Dick,” he said, stepping aside to let Dick in. “Good to see you, as always. What brings you here?”

“I need to talk to you about something,” Dick said. He gestured to the couch, which was dimly lit by the muted television. “Can we sit down?”

“Sure,” Clark said. They sat next to each other on the couch. Clark turned the lights on and the TV off, and closed his laptop, giving Dick his undivided attention. “What do you need to talk about?”

Dick sighed, leaned forward, and ran his hands through his hair. Clearly this was a very serious matter. Clark waited patiently for Dick to collect himself and answer. “I fucked up,” he finally said, gaze fixed on the floor. “I fucked up and now everything else is fucked up because of it.”

Clark frowned. Sure, things hadn’t been great since Dick had invited him to join the Wayne family on their ski trip, but that didn’t mean what had happened since then was Dick’s fault. Clark understood where he was coming from, though; he, too, had a bad habit of blaming himself when things went wrong, even if logically he knew it couldn’t have been his fault. “I’m sure that’s an exaggeration,” he said, placing a comforting hand on Dick’s back. Dick shook his head, not believing him.

“You know the way Bruce has been acting lately? Since the ski trip?” Clark nodded. Yes, he was well aware of the way Bruce had been acting lately. He’d been avoiding Clark; avoiding the entire Justice League, actually, but Clark knew that was only an extension of the fact that Bruce was avoiding _him_. He just wished he knew why.

“It’s my fault,” Dick said.

“You can’t blame yourself for someone else’s actions, Dick.”

“This time, I can.” Dick sat back up, looking Clark in the eye. He looked like he meant it, and not just like he was blaming himself for no reason.

“What makes you say that?” Clark asked, suddenly suspicious.

Dick seemed to brace himself for Clark’s reaction to what he was about to say. “It wasn’t Bruce’s idea to invite you to Switzerland,” he said. “It was mine.”

Clark wasn’t too surprised. A part of him had suspected it, actually; he couldn’t imagine Bruce suddenly deciding to invite Clark to join his family on a week-long vacation. Sure, he’d _hoped_ that Bruce had wanted him there. But it hadn’t taken long for Bruce to reveal that he, in fact, did not.

There was still one thing Clark didn’t understand, though. “Then why did you lie about it?” he asked.

“Because I wanted you to think it was Bruce’s idea,” Dick confessed. “I wanted you to think he wanted you to come with us.” Clark nodded, silently prompting him to continue. Once again, Dick hesitated, but a few moments of waiting had him telling the truth: “Because… I was trying to set you up. The two of you. With each other.”

Oh. Clark’s eyebrows drew together in confusion and surprise. He honestly hadn’t expected that. A part of him was worried, now. Had Dick known, before inviting him, that Clark had feelings for Bruce? He must have, if he’d wanted to set them up with each other. Clark had thought he’d hidden his feelings rather well, but apparently not. Then again, there wasn’t much a person could hide from the Bats of Gotham. Clark supposed it was only a matter of time before one of them discovered his attraction to Bruce, and if it had to be one of them, he was kind of glad it was Dick. He shuddered to think what would have happened if Jason had been the one to intervene.

“Ah,” was all he said aloud, because his head was racing too fast for him to put words together. Thankfully, it was the only prompting Dick needed to continue.

“I’ve been watching the way you two act around each other for years,” he said, rambling a bit as he tried to explain himself, “And recently I’ve noticed there’s something there. I knew Bruce was into you, and I was pretty sure you were into him.” Clark’s thoughts ground to a halt. _Wait a second,_ he thought, replaying Dick’s words in his mind. _Bruce is into me? Bruce has feelings for me?_ He tried to collect himself. _Calm down. Dick_ thinks _Bruce has feelings for you, but that doesn’t mean it’s true._

“But I also knew,” Dick was saying, “That you had no idea how Bruce felt and you wouldn’t make a move until you were sure you wouldn’t be risking your friendship.” Damn, Dick _was_ a good detective. _Maybe he’s right. Maybe Bruce_ does _have feelings for you…_ “And I knew Bruce wouldn’t make a move _ever_ , because that’s just how he is. So I thought maybe… I could force the two of you together. By making you spend time together, without any distractions. And that’s why I invited you to Switzerland.”

Clark was beginning to put together what had happened after that. “But Bruce found out,” he said. It wasn’t a question. Clark knew it was true. It explained everything: why Bruce had freaked out and left Switzerland early, why Bruce had been avoiding him since then. Bruce was afraid of his own feelings, or ashamed of them, perhaps, but either way, Clark was sure he didn’t like the idea that Dick had not only known about those feelings, but had tried to force Bruce to act on them.

“Of course he found out,” Dick muttered. “I don’t know why I thought he wouldn’t.”

“And that’s why he left so suddenly, halfway through the trip. That’s why he’s been acting like this. He’s trying to distance himself.”

“He’s afraid his feelings for you would be a conflict of interest,” Dick said. “His words, not mine.”

Wait. “You’ve spoken to him about this?”

“Yeah, today actually. I would’ve done it earlier, but he’s been avoiding me the same as he’s been avoiding you.”

“And he said… he confessed to all of this? That he has feelings for me?” Clark tried not to sound too hopeful, but judging by Dick’s expression, he failed. Clark couldn’t help it, though. This felt like everything he’d been hoping for, for so long. And sure, the circumstances weren’t exactly ideal, but if Bruce was attracted to him, if Bruce had feelings for him… then maybe they could figure this thing out.

Dick gave Clark a small smile, some of the guilt fading from his eyes. “Yeah,” he said. “He has feelings for you. He said it himself.”

Well that… that changed everything.

“But you know him,” Dick continued. “Protecting Gotham is the most important thing to him. Everything else – every _one_ else – comes second.”

Clark shook his head. “That’s not true,” he said firmly. Bruce may have been avoiding him, refusing to speak to him, and treating him rudely when Clark tried to initiate interaction between them, but Clark would not stand by and let Dick believe that Bruce cared more about Gotham than he did about his own family. “You’re the most important thing to him. His family is the most important thing to him. More important than Gotham. Which is probably why he’s afraid of getting close to anyone else. He already has too many distractions.”

Dick looked at Clark strangely for a moment before saying, “You’re more perceptive than most people give you credit for.”

Clark shrugged. “I’m a journalist.”

Dick chuckled, and an amiable silence spread between them. It broke, however, when Dick’s guilt returned. “I wish I knew what else to do,” he said sadly. “Telling you the truth was the extent of my plan. Oh, and apologizing.” He held Clark’s gaze, silently conveying his own sincerity. “I’m sorry I lied to you, and I’m sorry my actions caused Bruce to treat you like he’s been treating you. I shouldn’t have interfered like I did.”

“No,” Clark said. “You shouldn’t have. You should’ve told Bruce that you suspected he had feelings for me and encouraged him to act of his own volition. Or you should’ve encouraged _me_ to make a move. God knows I’ve been looking for a reason to.”

Dick looked up at him hopefully. “Is it too late to encourage you now?”

Clark laughed. “I don’t think now would be the best time.”

“Yeah, you’re probably right.” Dick kicked one of the legs of Clark’s coffee table halfheartedly, releasing some of his frustration. “I just wish there was something else I could do to fix things between you and Bruce.”

“You’ve apologized to me,” Clark said. “And I take it you’ve apologized to Bruce as well?”

“I have.”

“Then you’ve done all you can do. Bruce and I are grown-ups. We can take care of the rest on our own.” Clark gave Dick his best reassuring smile, and Dick seemed somewhat placated by it.

“What are you going to do?” he asked.

“I don’t know yet,” Clark admitted. “Probably nothing. For now, at least. And when it seems like Bruce is ready, I’ll make a move. I just hope that’ll be sooner rather than later. Things haven’t been the same since Bruce started distancing himself from me. I feel like I’ve lost one of my greatest friends.”

“Yeah,” Dick said solemnly. “I know how that feels.”

* * *

Another month passed. Shortly after Dick had come to apologize to Clark, Bruce had started making at least semi-regular appearances at League meetings, joining League missions, and giving technical support when the other heroes needed it. But he was still avoiding Clark. Clark probably could have cornered him, if he’d really wanted to. He could’ve forced Bruce to have a conversation with him. But this was a delicate situation they were in, and Clark was hyperaware of the fact that anything he said or did could make or break the future of his and Bruce’s relationship. Not that they had much of a relationship anymore. Bruce had seen to that.

Clark’s plan, initially, was to wait for Bruce to make the first move, to indicate in some way that he was ready for Clark to talk to him about this mess between them. Not only did it seem like that wasn’t going to happen, but circumstances were starting to pile up in ways that would soon force Clark to approach Bruce.

Lex Luthor was at it again. Clark had been keeping track of his company’s actions, and his Research and Development division had been spending a great deal of money in suspicious ways. Unfortunately, that was as far as Clark’s knowledge went. He didn’t know what Luthor was spending money on, or what his plan was, and he couldn’t think of a way to figure that out on his own without alerting Luthor to the fact that he was on to him, which he didn’t want to do this early in the game.

He’d approached other heroes about it, and every one of them had told him the same thing: “That sounds more like Batman’s area of expertise,” they said. “You should probably ask him.”

They were right, of course. This would be a mission that would require stealth, technological expertise, and detective work. It was right up Bruce’s alley. If Clark wanted to figure out what Luthor was up to before Luthor tried anything, he was going to need Bruce’s help.

It was an afternoon in mid-March when Clark came to this conclusion. He searched for Bruce in the Watchtower, and found him sitting in front of a wall of monitors. He didn’t seem to be in the middle of anything too pressing, so Clark approached him, loud enough that Bruce would hear him coming. Bruce turned in his chair; upon laying eyes on Clark, he looked ready to bolt. Clark held up a hand to stop him before he could.

“Don’t run away,” he said quickly. “I just need to borrow your detective skills.”

Bruce glared at him. “I wasn’t planning on running away,” he lied.

Clark lifted a single eyebrow and smirked. “Sure you weren’t,” he said. Before Bruce could get too defensive, however, he continued. “I’m trying to figure out Luthor’s latest plan. He’s up to something, but I can’t figure out what. His company’s R&D department has been working on a series of… shall we say, sketchy projects. But I don’t have any way of getting any more detail. I was hoping you could do some investigating and tell me what he’s planning so I can stop him before anyone gets hurt.”

“I can get details,” Bruce said, nodding slowly. “But it’ll involve some breaking and entering.” The corners of his mouth quirked up. It had been so long since Clark had seen Bruce smile; he wondered if he was imagining it. “Sure you can condone that sort of behavior, Boy Scout?”

Clark couldn’t help but grin. God, he’d forgotten how much he enjoyed Bruce’s company, the teasing that always seemed to border on flirtation, that unique sense of humor Bruce had; most people didn’t find it funny, but Clark found it fucking hilarious.

“I’ll look the other way,” he said, teasing Bruce back. “Just this once.”

Bruce nodded, the humor gone from his eyes as quickly as it had come, replaced by concentration. He was thinking of a plan. After a few moments of uninterrupted silence, he spoke. “Alright. I’ll get back to you tomorrow, then.”

“That soon?” Clark knew Bruce was good at what he did, but that seemed a little overconfident, even for him.

“I’ll just do some recon,” Bruce said. “I’ll go to his building in Metropolis, get the lay of the land. I need a night to scope the place out, formulate a plan. When I have one, I’ll get back to you.”

That made more sense. Clark nodded, agreeing to this idea. “Thanks,” he said, reaching out to clap Bruce on the shoulder. Bruce grimaced at the gesture, but he didn’t say anything about it, nor did he recoil from it, which Clark considered a small victory. “Knew I could count on you.” He turned and started making his way across the room to leave, but then added, as an afterthought: “Be careful, though.” He jabbed a finger at Bruce and stared him down with a serious expression. He knew all too well of Bruce’s habit of throwing himself into dangerous situations with little regard for his own safety. “Wouldn’t want anything bad to happen to you on my account.” He smirked slightly. “Alfred would kill me.”

“He could, too,” Bruce said, turning his attention back to what he was doing. “He knows where I keep the Kryptonite.”


	8. Teamwork

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A lot more was going to happen at the end of this chapter, but it got too long, so I'm putting that in the next chapter. Also, 95% of what I know about Lex Luthor comes from the Justice League animated TV show, so that's where his characterization is coming from.

There was something about the way corporate buildings looked and felt in the middle of the night that appealed to Bruce. He could never put his finger on exactly what it was. Some combination of the still silence, the darkness that clung to the corners, the inherent unobtrusiveness of the sleek aesthetic a company like LexCorp applied, the quiet rooms of empty swivel chairs and powered-down technology, the utter absence of people where, during the day, the place would be bustling with workers.

Bruce didn’t make a sound as he slipped through the halls, hacking his way through doors and into computers. He located the R&D department easily – Bruce Wayne knew how to find his way around corporate headquarters – and was currently uploading incriminating files onto a flash drive he’d brought in his utility belt. Clark was right. Luthor’s company had gotten into some highly illegal shit. The trick, however, wasn’t finding the evidence; it was getting Lex to admit to it. Bruce knew all too well how difficult it was to get a rich man in prison.

It took nearly an hour for Bruce to find and upload all the relevant information, but once he did, he shut the computer off and started to make his exit, as quietly as he’d found his way there.

However, Bruce’s escape plan was foiled the instant he set foot in the main lobby. He heard a disturbance behind him, and when he turned to look, felt a shocking sensation digging into his back. He collapsed face first onto the shiny marble floor, the world around him fading to black.

When he woke, Bruce could tell from the design of the room he’d been moved to that he was still in the LexCorp headquarters, likely somewhere in the building’s basement. Hopefully that meant he hadn’t been out for long.

Less fortuitous, however, was the position Bruce found himself in: chained to an unforgiving metal chair, unable to move, with what looked like some type of laser gun descending from the ceiling, aimed directly at his chest. The manacles that held his wrists and ankles emitted a faint green glow from within; this chair had been designed for Superman. It was lined with Kryptonite. As much as Bruce did not appreciate being restrained and threatened with lasers, a part of him was glad it was him who’d ended up in this situation, and not Clark. This much Kryptonite would weaken him to the point where a single, well-placed gunshot (or laser beam as the case may be) would put him permanently out of commission.

Bruce looked up, and instantly laid eyes on an all too familiar figure. Lex Luthor stood a good ten feet away, illuminated by dim lights in the ceiling, his features half-obscured in shadow. His hand rested gently on a panel that Bruce would bet his life controlled the laser that was currently a button press away from ending him. Lex looked as smug and professional as always in a well-tailored suit, although the snob in Bruce had to lift a single eyebrow under his cowl at Lex’s choice of tie: bright green, of course, like Kryptonite, but it really gave Lex more of a Joker vibe, honestly. Bruce thought about voicing this observation – Lex hated the Joker almost as much as Bruce did – but decided to save the insult for later, when he felt he really needed it.

Noticing that Bruce was now conscious, Lex grinned, a slow, sincere display of satisfaction and pure evil. “Well, well, well,” he said in his deep, lilting voice. What a cliché way to begin things, Bruce thought. Sometimes he wondered if these supervillain types exhausted all their creativity coming up with complicated themes for themselves, and that was why their dialogue was always so tired and stale. “I thought I might be receiving a visit from Superman one of these nights, but I certainly wasn’t expecting to see you, Batman.” Lex spat their names – Superman and Batman – out with utter contempt, the way a morally upright person might say “Hitler” or “the KKK.” “Doing Superman’s dirty work, are we?”

Now, Bruce sensed, was the time to start insulting him. “You’d know all about hiring people to do your dirty work,” he said. He remembered the last time he’d seen Lex; Lex had hired a group of the Justice League’s most despicable (and, probably, most cash-strapped) villains to execute a plan he’d masterminded. Thankfully, supervillains didn’t tend to work very well with others, not even other supervillains, and Lex’s plan had not been all that difficult to foil.

Rather than appear insulted by Bruce’s insinuation, Lex beamed in self-satisfaction. “I would, wouldn’t I?” he said. “Then again, I’m not the one rounding up dozens of little batlings to rough up the hardened criminals of Gotham. Resorting to child labor…” Lex clucked his tongue and shook his head in mock condemnation. “And they call me a villain. Tell me, Batman, are your protégés all as incompetent as you are?”

The bad guys always had to bring Bruce’s family into things, didn’t they? It would be so much easier for everyone if they didn’t. Bruce glared at Lex and spoke with newfound vitriol behind his words. “If you don’t let me go, you’ll soon find out for yourself,” he threatened.

Lex only laughed, a low, menacing chuckle deep in his throat. “Oh, please,” he said. “You and I both know you came here alone. You’re far too arrogant to bring backup for a simple recon mission.”

Bruce was about to make a comeback criticizing Lex for having the gall to point out _his_ arrogance, but he was interrupted by a deep, powerful, familiar voice – “Is he?” – followed by the nigh unbearable sound of metal grinding against metal. A pair of strong, Kryptonian hands pried the doors to the room Bruce and Lex were in open, and Clark floated through the opening he’d made for himself, his feet a few inches off the ground. There was no logical reason for Clark to be flying at a moment like this, of course; he was only doing it to appear more threatening, both as a reminder of his immense, superhuman power and (probably) as a way of making himself taller. Bruce took advantage of Lex’s distraction and rolled his eyes at Clark’s theatrics. Not that he was in any position to judge.

Lex turned to face Clark, his hand still resting threateningly on the control panel. He didn’t seem the least bit afraid of Clark; on the contrary, he looked like the cat that caught the canary. It was an expression supervillains frequently made use of, even though, in Bruce’s experience, their situation rarely warranted it.

“Superman!” Lex said, with a voice like he was welcoming Clark to a garden party and not to Bruce’s potential demise. “What a pleasant surprise.”

“Let Batman go,” Clark warned, in that high-and-mighty voice of truth and justice he always used for his Superman persona, “And we can all walk away from this like none of it ever happened.”

“Actually,” Lex said, “I think I have Batman right where I want him.” He gestured over to where Bruce was still strapped down, unable to move, entirely at Lex’s mercy. “As you can see, there’s no way for you to save him. Take one step closer to that chair, and the Kryptonite I’ve built into it will begin to take effect. You won’t even make it across the room without collapsing.”

Clark surveyed Bruce’s current situation with evident concern. Judging by the way he did as Lex said and didn’t move, he must have come to the conclusion that Lex was right. He couldn’t save Bruce. It probably wasn’t a feeling Clark was used to. Bruce wondered if, even at that distance, Clark could feel his Kryptonian powers beginning to drain away from the close proximity to his one fatal weakness. He hoped not. The last thing he needed was a depowered Clark on his hands.

“And if you try to make a move anyway,” Lex continued, relishing in Clark’s helplessness, “Either to free Batman or to harm me… well.”

His palm pressed firmly down on one of the buttons on the control panel. For a split second, Bruce thought he was about to die, that this was his last moment on Earth, even though that didn’t make any logical sense. Lex wouldn’t throw away his only bargaining chip in the presence of an angry Superman. Still, Bruce’s survival instincts got the better of him, and he started to think of all his regrets, things he’d done, things he hadn’t done. Most of them related to his family. Some of them potentially related to the fact that he had never told Clark how he felt about him, that he’d never acted on his attraction. Now he never could.

However, when the beam from the laser above him struck Bruce, it didn’t burn a hole through his chest. Instead, Bruce was caught up in a wave of sheer pain the likes of which he’d never experienced, lighting up every nerve in his body, causing him to writhe and cry out. His vision gave way to pure, blinding white and his scream echoed off the walls of the small room.

“Batman!” Bruce barely registered the sound of Clark’s voice when the brief but unbearable moment of pain had ended. His breath came heavy, and sweat collected at his forehead under his cowl. He certainly hadn’t expected _that_ when he’d snuck into LexCorp tonight.

Bruce’s vision cleared just in time to see Clark make a move to come toward him, Kryptonite be damned. Before Bruce could find his voice to warn Clark to stay where he was, Lex did it for him.

“Ah, ah, ah!” he said, hand hovering dangerously above another button. Bruce didn’t even want to think about what _that_ one did. “I said don’t move. I constructed this machine with the capacity to hurt even you.” He smiled wickedly and raised an eyebrow, challenging Clark. “What do you think it could do to an ordinary human like Batman?”

Bruce could tell Clark exactly what it could do to him. It could kill him, yes, but it could also make him beg for death. And that wasn’t normally the sort of thing he would ever do in front of one of his nemeses, let alone one of his friend’s nemeses.

So Bruce caught Clark’s eye and gave him a significant look. It was time to change tactics. Luckily, Clark knew exactly what he meant, and hadn’t forgotten their plan in his moment of panic. He turned to Lex, trying to muster the same gravitas he’d had before Bruce had been shot with a torture beam. Unfortunately, he couldn’t seem to fully get back into his Superman persona. There was a quaver in his voice that was distinctly Clark Kent, like seeing Bruce in that much pain had shaken away a fundamental aspect of his identity. Bruce tried not to think about the implications of that, about how it confirmed every worry he’d had about entering a relationship with Clark.

“What do you want?” Clark asked Lex.

With Lex’s attention now fully directed at Clark, Bruce began twisting his wrists in the manacles that held them, getting a feel for his situation while simultaneously trying to knock loose the set of lock picks he kept on him at all times. There wasn’t a set of restraints on this or any other planet that could hold the Batman. Not for long, anyway.

“What do I always want?” Lex was saying as Bruce got his tools into his hands and started working the manacles. “I want you dead.”

“And how did you manage to find enough Kryptonite to accomplish that?” Clark asked. “The government raided your supply after your last attempt.”

Lex grinned deviously. “I have my ways of obtaining the mineral,” he assured Clark. “Mind you, none of them are exactly legal. But when you’re as wealthy as I am, you’d be surprised what sort of things you can get away with. Extortion, bribery, fraud. And all in the name of bringing you down.”

Oh, this was perfect. Bruce checked the recording device he’d attached to his belt. Yep, he was getting all of it. He smiled to himself. Classic Lex, getting himself in trouble with his own arrogance. The man always had to stop to brag about how good he was at being a villain. It was sad, almost.

“So that’s why you’ve been so quiet lately,” Clark said, goading Lex on even further, seeing if he could get anything else out of him. “You’ve been stocking up.”

“Oh, not just stocking up,” Lex said, oblivious to the fact that, behind him, Bruce had already freed his hands and was making quick work of his ankles. “You’ll find I’ve upped my resourcefulness this time around. I haven’t just been collecting raw Kryptonite, you see. I’ve managed to convert it into more… useful forms.”

The bravado was back in Clark’s voice, now that he could see that Bruce had managed to free himself. Bruce quietly closed the manacles around his wrists and ankles again, not enough to lock them, but enough to give the appearance that he was still trapped. “You’ve been manufacturing Kryptonite-based weapons,” he said.

“Precisely.”

Now it was Clark’s turn to grin deviously, which seemed to throw Lex entirely off guard. Lex thought he had Clark right where he wanted him. He was about to discover that, in fact, the opposite was true. “Tell me, Batman,” Clark began slowly, speaking past Lex, “What do you think the good folks at the FBI would think of a man like Luthor manufacturing illegal weapons for his own personal use?”

“I don’t think they’d be too pleased to hear about it, Superman,” Bruce said matter-of-factly, playing along.

Lex’s hand returned to the control panel for the laser. “They won’t be hearing about it,” he warned them both. “Not if you want Batman to live.”

“About that…” Bruce snapped the manacles open and stepped out of the chair Lex had trapped him in, moving lithely out of the laser’s sights. Lex gaped, his mouth hanging open in an entirely undignified way.

“But…” he stammered, “But how?”

“I have a lot of experience getting out of seemingly impossible situations,” Bruce said. “You should see some of the elaborate traps the Riddler comes up with. By comparison, this was child’s play.”

Lex was speechless, so Bruce took the opportunity to deride him further. “If they ever let you out of federal prison,” he said, approaching Lex casually, “You might want to think about updating your security system. It’s terribly easy to bypass.”

Lex glared at him, slowly turning red in the face. “I caught you, didn’t I?”

One of the corners of Bruce’s mouth twisted up in a smirk. “Not last night you didn’t.”


	9. A Good Bad Idea

Bruce waited on the roof of LexCorp headquarters for Clark to finish up with Lex Luthor and the FBI. He looked up at the night sky, a dark blanket that hung over the Metropolis skyline. He hurt all over, the lingering effects of Lex’s torture beam causing an ache to spread through his muscles. It felt like he’d fought every rogue in Gotham at once.

Clark was taking his sweet time, it seemed. Bruce scowled. He could just leave, he thought, return to Gotham. Dick had promised to cover Bruce’s patrol that night, but Bruce still didn’t like the idea that he wasn’t around if something happened. He’d told Clark he’d wait around for him, but it would hardly be the first time he’d ditched Clark after promising to wait for him.

Still, something kept Bruce standing there, kept him from leaping off the edge of the building and grappling his way down to the street, finding where he’d parked the Batmobile in a quiet, deserted alley a few blocks away, and driving to Gotham. Maybe it was the pain. He _really_ didn’t feel like fighting crime right about now. Maybe it was the fact that none of his children had called him in a panic to tell him how they were hanging from the ceiling of an abandoned warehouse, trapped by Poison Ivy’s vines, or that Catwoman was robbing another jewelry store and they couldn’t catch her without him. The radio silence from the heroes of Gotham hopefully implied that they had everything under control.

Or maybe it was more because Bruce couldn’t stop thinking about what he’d just been through; how, when he’d thought he was about to die, a part of Bruce had wished he’d had the chance to do things differently with Clark, had told Clark the truth about his feelings from the beginning. As much as Bruce hated to admit it, it was possible Dick had been right all along. Bruce was letting an opportunity pass him by, and if he didn’t stop to take advantage of it, he might actually regret it.

But then Bruce recalled how distracted Clark had been by Bruce’s pain, and he thought about how that distraction could have cost them both their lives, and he felt conflicted Sure, Clark had managed to keep it together at the time, but how would things be different if they entered a romantic relationship? Would Clark be even _more_ distracted every time anything happened to Bruce? Would their next joint mission be the one where their distraction proved fatal? Bruce had to think about these things; clearly Clark wouldn’t.

The light sound of footfalls behind him indicated to Bruce that Clark had landed behind him. Bruce didn’t say anything, didn’t even turn to look at him. He waited for Clark to speak.

“I don’t know whether to be impressed or angry.” Clark was still using his Superman voice, which meant he was leaning toward the latter.

“What’s there to be angry about?” Bruce asked, finally turning to face Clark, who had a serious look on his face and his arms crossed over his chest. “Everything went exactly according to plan.”

“Except for the part where Luthor shot you with some kind of torture device!” Clark exclaimed, concern etched plainly in his features. Ah. So that’s what this was about. Bruce frowned. This didn’t bode well. If Clark couldn’t accept the fact that Bruce took a few risks now and then on their missions because he was too worried about Bruce getting hurt… well, that was exactly the sort of thing that could get in the way of them operating as an effective team.

“You worry too much,” Bruce said, scolding Clark more than comforting him. “Luthor wouldn’t have killed me. He needed me alive to force you to cooperate. I may not know Luthor like you do, but I know he’s nothing like the Joker. Everything he does has a logical purpose. Everything’s a means to an end. Killing me right away wouldn’t have helped achieve his end. My life was never in any serious danger.”

“Wasn’t it?” Clark snapped. “Your situation looked pretty dangerous to me when Luthor shot you with that laser.”

“It was just a little pain,” Bruce said. Okay, a _lot_ of pain, but he wasn’t even injured from it. He’d be sore for a few days, and then he’d get over it. “I can handle pain. I might not like it, but I can handle it. Besides, what would you have done if I hadn’t been there? It would’ve been you in that chair. Sitting on top of a pile of Kryptonite, ready to die.”

Clark glared at him for a moment that seemed to stretch on into eternity. When he looked away, his arms fell to his sides and he sighed, the tension in his body seeming to fade away, his expression softening. “You’re right,” he said. “Of course you’re right. And…” He cracked a smile. “I have to admit, Bruce, your plan was… truly brilliant.”

Bruce didn’t say anything. He turned back around and faced the rest of the city. It was dark in this section of Metropolis – all the businesses were closed for the night – but farther away, the city was lit up, even as the hours ticked by toward dawn. Clark came to stand next to him.

“I’m sorry for overreacting,” he said. “I know you can handle yourself. I should learn to trust you when you say you know what you’re doing.” He paused, reached up, and put a hand on Bruce’s shoulder. Bruce thought about shifting away, but decided against it. He found he actually didn’t mind the solid weight of Clark’s hand on him. It was… comforting, in a way. “You know,” Clark said when Bruce didn’t push him away, “You and I make a pretty good team.”

Bruce thought about how they’d gotten Lex to confess to everything, how Clark had escaped unharmed and Bruce had escaped, well, at least not permanently harmed. And then he thought about all the other successful missions Batman and Superman had pulled off together. He spent so much of his time worried that his feelings for Clark would get in the way of saving the world that he hadn’t stopped to consider the evidence before him. He’d had serious feelings for Clark for over a year now. How many times had they worked together during that year? Countless times. And how many times had Bruce’s feelings gotten in the way and led to someone getting hurt?

Not once.

“I suppose we do work well together,” Bruce admitted, somewhat to himself. His thoughts were sending him down a dangerous road; he knew that. But for some reason, this time, that knowledge didn’t stop him from wondering… what if?

“Bruce…” Clark said after several long minutes of silence. His tone was different now. A part of Bruce didn’t like it. A part of him did. “I just wanted to say… I’ve missed working with you. I know things have been… different between us, lately, but I hope we can move past that. I’d hate to lose you as a friend.”

Bruce’s heart thudded under the Bat symbol on his chest. “I don’t want to talk about this,” he said, keeping his gaze fixed on the dark horizon.

“You don’t have to talk,” Clark said. “But can I?”

Bruce should have left as soon as he’d finished helping Clark with Lex, he realized. In fact, it wasn’t too late. He should leave now. Why wasn’t he leaving? “Fine.”

Clark took a deep breath, then spoke. “I don’t know if you still have feelings for me,” he said softy, like he was afraid Bruce would run away if he raised his voice. “I know you did, once. At least, I’m pretty sure you did. Dick obviously thought you did. But lately that hasn’t mattered to me. What matters more is that, for the past few months, you’ve barely been a part of my life. I don’t have a lot of friends who know me for everything I am. Most everyone I know only knows one secret identity or another. They know Superman, but they don’t know Clark Kent, or the other way around. But you know everything. Which means you’re one of the few people I know I can talk to about anything, without any secrets. You have no idea how invaluable that is to me.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Bruce could see that Clark was gazing at him intensely, but Bruce still refused to make eye contact. He got the distinct feeling that if he looked into Clark’s eyes now, he would be lost.

Clark continued. “And besides that, I enjoy your friendship. I like spending time with you. I’d hate to lose that.” He paused, letting this sink in. “I hope I don’t have to,” he then said. It sounded like a question, so Bruce treated it like a question.

He sighed, and finally turned to look at Clark. There were those eyes, looking at him like he was the most important person in the world. Damn Clark for looking at him like that. “You’re incredibly difficult to say no to, you know,” Bruce told him, the barest edge of humor in his voice.

Clark smirked. “Bullshit,” he said. “You’ve done it many times.”

“And I should do it again,” Bruce said firmly. “Everything that’s happened tonight has only confirmed what I was afraid of.”

“And what are you afraid of?”

“I’m afraid that things will get complicated,” Bruce said. “That we’ll both start to care too much and it’ll distract us and get someone killed.”

“Hey,” Clark said, the hand that was still on Bruce’s shoulder giving a small squeeze. “I care about you now, and no one got killed tonight. What happened to ‘everything went exactly according to plan’?”

“This time it did,” Bruce said. “What about next time? Or the time after that? What are you going to do the next time I’m being tortured, or my life is in danger? Will you be able to keep your head? What if something happens to you? How am I going to react? It’s not going to stop, Clark. We’ll always be finding ourselves in dangerous situations.”

“And we’ll handle them,” Clark said. His voice had risen in his desperation to communicate his point to a stubborn Bruce. “Together. As _friends_. Not as two guys who used to be friends but stopped seeing each other because they were afraid of things getting ‘complicated.’ You can handle a little complicated. We both can. Come on, Bruce. You’re going to avoid me forever because you don’t want things to get complicated? Our _lives_ are complicated!” His hand left Bruce’s shoulder to gesture meaninglessly around them. “And maybe that’s a good thing,” he said. “Maybe one day…” He shrugged, shook his head, and it was too dark to tell, but he might have even blushed a little. “We can get even more complicated.”

Fuck. This was even worse than Bruce had expected. “Clark—” he said, hoping to cut this off before it went too far. He had no such luck.

“Do you have feelings for me?” Clark demanded. Bruce was taken aback by his straightforwardness. “Do you?”

Clark’s gaze bore into him, and Bruce couldn’t say anything but the truth. “Yes.”

Clark nodded, a bit disjointedly, like he hadn’t actually expected Bruce to admit this and was surprised. “I have feelings for you too,” he said.

The night was silent around them. Clark took a step toward Bruce. When Bruce didn’t back away from him, he took another, until there were mere inches between them. His eyes held Bruce’s for a very long time before slipping down to his mouth. There was no question what he was hoping for. Every rational thought in Bruce’s head told him to leap off the building and get the hell out of there before he could do something he knew he would regret. But with Clark standing so close, and looking at him with such sincere desire, it was difficult to be rational.

“Do you mind if I—?” Clark asked, once again making eye contact (and fuck, he had such nice eyes, why did he have to have such nice eyes). He left the end of his question hanging in the air, the words unspoken but clear.

Bruce knew he should say no. What was more, he knew, if he did say no, Clark would respect his decision. He would back away, they would say their goodbyes, Clark would take off into the night, and he’d never bring this moment up again. It would be so easy, then, for Bruce to turn him down. And things would stay just the way they were. No hard feelings, no distractions, no conflicts of interest. Just Batman and Superman, partners in crime fighting, maybe even friends. But nothing more.

But how could Bruce say no when everything he’d wanted for so long was being handed to him? Even though he’d known all along that he shouldn’t want this, that it wouldn’t lead anywhere good. He’d thought so often about this moment, never thinking – not even daring to hope – that it might one day become a reality, that one day he’d be faced with this decision, and he’d have to choose. Would he reach out and take what he wanted, consequences be damned? Or would he make yet another sacrifice for the sake of Gotham, the League, the world?

“I should say no,” he said quietly, not breaking Clark’s gaze.

“You can,” Clark assured him.

“I won’t.”

Before Clark could put together what he meant, Bruce leaned forward, closing the space between them. Their lips crashed together and their bodies pressed against each other. Bruce’s arms wrapped around Clark’s waist, holding him close. Clark, in turn, put his hands on Bruce’s back, clutching fistfuls of his cape like Bruce would disappear if he let go.

The kiss was firm, insistent, a confirmation of everything they felt for each other, everything they’d been too afraid to say for so long. Clark hummed in the back of his throat, and Bruce tilted his head, opening his mouth to the kiss. Clark melted a little in his arms, like he couldn’t believe what was happening, and his tongue slid tentatively into Bruce’s mouth.

One of Bruce’s hands lifted from Clark’s waist and buried itself in Clark’s hair, maneuvering his head to a better angle so Bruce could deepen the kiss, move his tongue across Clark’s, lick his way into Clark’s mouth. They each grew bolder, and with every movement of Clark’s tongue and every sigh from his lips Bruce forgot yet another reason why they shouldn’t be doing this.

He drew back slightly to catch his breath. Clark’s grip on Bruce tightened; he pulled Bruce in closer, but he seemed to have somewhat forgotten his own strength, as well as Bruce’s injury. Bruce hissed in pain and Clark let go of him immediately, the mood shattering between them like glass struck by a bullet. Clark’s hands were on his shoulders, light as a feather, ready to steady him if he started to fall but not applying any pressure that might hurt him further.

“You need to get home and get some rest,” Clark said. “And some painkillers.”

Bruce rolled his shoulders, wincing. “I hate to admit it,” he said, “But you’re right.” He made his way to the edge of the roof, but Clark called out, stopping him.

“Hey, thanks for helping me out with Luthor,” he said.

“Of course.”

“I’ll see you around the Watchtower, then?”

Bruce nodded. “You probably will.”

He leapt off the building, and when he looked over his shoulder, saw Clark taking off into the night.


	10. No Regrets

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the end, dear readers! I could drag it on but I really don't want to, seeing how I've got a shit ton of school work to focus on and at least 5 more SuperBat fics I want to write. So stay tuned from more from me, if you're at all interested! And thanks to everyone who left kudos or commented. I appreciate you all!
> 
> (Oh, and I wrote this at 3 in the morning, so... hopefully it isn't gibberish.)

“Nervous?” Clark asked.

They were making out against the wall in Clark’s cramped Metropolis apartment. Things were getting heated, and heading in a decidedly sexual direction. Nothing about Bruce’s body language suggested that he was in any way nervous about getting in bed with Clark. To the contrary, he seemed pretty enthusiastic about the idea, judging by the way he was rubbing up against Clark and kissing him with _just_ the right amount of tongue (good God the man could kiss). Still, Clark wanted to be sure. Bruce had been pretty goddamn reluctant to enter this relationship. He didn’t want Bruce to feel like things were moving too fast between them. And above all, he didn’t like the idea that Bruce might feel like Clark was pressuring him to have sex. So he had to ask.

“Nervous?” Bruce repeated, pulling away from Clark to raise an incredulous eyebrow. “Clark, this is hardly my first time. It’s not even my first time with a man.” He paused, then cracked a rare smile and added, “It is my first time with an alien, I’ll admit. Unless that Bulgarian model from a few months ago was hiding something.”

Normally, Clark would’ve laughed at Bruce’s attempt at humor, but this was a serious matter. If they were going to have sex, Clark wanted it to be one hundred percent, enthusiastically consensual. “I just have to make sure this is what you want,” Clark said. “You weren’t exactly on board with this,” he gestured between the two of them, “A few weeks ago. So if you think we’re moving too fast, you can say so, and we can slow things down. I’d be fine with that.”

Bruce leveled him with an equally serious look, seemingly understanding the gravity of the situation. “We may have just gotten together, officially,” he said, “But we’ve known each other for years, and been friends for most of that time. With a track record like mine, that’s already taking things pretty damn slow. Trust me. I want this.” He added, as an afterthought, “But only if you do.”

“Oh, I do,” Clark said, infusing the words with meaning (and maybe just a hint of suggestiveness). “I’m just being cautious.”

Bruce’s smile twisted into a seductive smirk. It wasn’t an expression Clark had ever seen on Bruce – not directed at him, anyway – but oh, he liked it very much.

“We’ll have to put an end to that sort of behavior for the night,” Bruce said lowly, voice sending shivers down Clark’s spine.

“Bedroom?” Clark asked, managing to keep his voice steady and feeling very accomplished for it.

“Lead the way.”

Once inside Clark’s bedroom – and it wasn’t a very long journey from the front door, one of the few perks of living in an apartment as opposed to, say, Wayne Manor – they were making out again. It was fiercer, this time, and faster, and Clark began unbuttoning his shirt before Bruce shoved his hands away and finished the job himself, at no point breaking away from their heated kiss. Clark returned the favor, unbuttoning Bruce’s shirt and sliding it off his arms before greedily running his hands up and down Bruce’s sculpted torso, a low, appreciative grunt escaping him.

When Bruce broke away, they were both already breathless. He leaned his forehead against Clark’s to ask, “What do you want?”

It took a minute for Clark to sort out his thoughts enough to provide Bruce with an answer. “Can I fuck you?” he asked. He couldn’t keep the excitement out of his voice. He didn’t even try to. Bruce smiled back at him and nodded.

“Go for it.”

Emboldened by Bruce’s permission, Clark lifted Bruce off the floor easily, a firm hand on each of his thighs, holding him up. Part of him expected Bruce to protest, but Bruce didn’t react except to look momentarily caught off guard and then wrap his arms loosely around Clark’s broad shoulders for balance. Clark carried Bruce the few feet to his bed and deposited him on top of the covers, then climbed over him and began kissing him again, hands on Bruce’s hips, grinding their hardening cocks together through the layers of their pants and underwear. Bruce gasped once under him before tightening his hold on Clark to bring him closer.

Clark began moving down Bruce’s chest, kissing his neck, his shoulders, sucking a mark under his collarbone. His fingers found Bruce’s belt and Bruce lifted his hips to make it easier for Clark to remove it; Clark took off Bruce’s pants, and then his own, and finally their underwear.

Bruce’s cock sprung free, red and swollen, tip glistening with pre-come. He eyed it appreciatively, deciding on the spot that after this, they were going to switch places and Bruce was going to fuck _him_.

Apparently Clark spent too long gaping at Bruce’s dick, because Bruce cleared his throat to bring Clark’s attention back to his face. “I hope you’re not going to make me wait all night,” he said. Clark grinned mischievously.

“I was thinking about it,” he lied. In reality, he was just as eager to get to the main event as Bruce was. There was a time and place for taking things slow. This wasn’t it.

“If you take too long, we won’t have time for round two,” Bruce said, and dear Lord, his voice sounded like sin and Clark could not get enough of it.

Liking the sound of that, Clark leaned over to reach into his nightstand. He fished around inside the drawer, finding a condom but no lube. He frowned. _Shit._ He was usually more prepared than this. He looked down at Bruce apologetically.

“You didn’t, by any chance, bring—?”

“Back left pocket,” Bruce answered, like he’d read Clark’s mind. Clark nodded and grabbed Bruce’s pants off the floor, pulled a tube out of the back left pocket. Of course Bruce would always come prepared, even if Clark hadn’t.

After kissing Bruce thoroughly for a while to get back into the mood, Clark uncapped the lube and squeezed a generous amount onto his forefinger, which he then used to tease at Bruce’s entrance. Bruce spread his legs invitingly, hooking one around Clark’s back to open himself up even more.

Clark’s finger slid in, not meeting too much resistance. He began working Bruce open, crooking his finger inside him while his tongue delved into Bruce’s mouth. He added a second finger when Bruce’s heel dug particularly insistently into his back, prompting him, and a third when Bruce verbally demanded it. His strokes brushed against Bruce’s prostate, and Bruce broke away from the kiss to voice his appreciation: “Oh, fuck, yes, baby, just like that.”

Clark’s already painfully hard cock twitched at Bruce’s words. Unable to wait any longer, he withdrew his fingers, took the condom out of its wrapper, and coated his own cock in plenty of lube, the friction of his hand a blessing after he’d been hard for so long. He brought Bruce’s other leg around him to give himself a better angle, lined up his cock with Bruce’s entrance, and – “Do it all at once, baby; don’t go slow” – bottomed out inside him in a single stroke. Bruce cried out beneath him, hands clutching at his arms like a lifeline.

“ _Fuck_ yes,” Bruce said. Clark had to agree. The feeling of Bruce’s tight heat enveloping him was easily one of the best sensations he’d ever experienced.

Once they’d each had a moment to adjust, Clark started moving inside Bruce, pulling almost all the way out and then thrusting forcefully back in. He remembered what Bruce had said about not being cautious and tried to keep that in mind, not afraid to use a little of his strength on Bruce to fuck him harder and deeper than he might have been comfortable doing with anyone else. Apparently he was doing something right; Bruce’s occasional pleasured noises were indication of that.

“Little bit faster, baby,” Bruce said. Clark complied, and Bruce rewarded him immediately with a low moan and a, “That’s more like it.”

At this pace, Clark could feel himself rapidly approaching the edge. “You feel so good,” he managed, the only words he’d uttered since he’d started fucking Bruce. He’d always had a tendency to lose the ability to talk during sex; it was a distracting exercise. He didn’t know how Bruce managed to do both at the same time.

“Gonna come, baby?” Bruce asked.

 _I am if you keep calling me that,_ Clark thought. “Getting close,” he said.

“Jerk me off.”

Clark’s hand wrapped around Bruce’s cock and he stroked him, wrist twisting on the upstroke, a move that had always worked well on himself. Apparently it was just as good for Bruce; Bruce laid a hand on Clark’s shoulder, like a warning, before coming between them with a cry. Clark jerked him through his orgasm, and when he was finished and twitching with aftershocks, he fucked even harder into Bruce, bringing himself over the edge as well. His vision whited out, and he came for what felt like ages, probably shouting Bruce’s name while he did, though he wasn’t cognizant of doing so.

After taking a few minutes to breathe, Clark pulled out, tied off the condom, and threw it away. Bruce cleaned himself off with tissues from Clark’s nightstand. Clark collapsed in bed next to him.

It was Bruce who broke the silence between them, which was new. “Been a while since I’ve been fucked like that,” he said. “Thought I’d have to remind you not to be gentle with me, but you knew what to do.”

“You told me not to be cautious,” Clark said.

Bruce laughed. It took Clark by surprise, because it wasn’t a sound he’d heard before. Sure, he’d heard Bruce give the occasional dark chuckle, but a full-on, genuine, hearty laugh? Never. And it was probably just the endorphins, but they were endorphins Bruce had gotten from fucking Clark, so Clark felt justified in taking credit for them.

“I didn’t realize you’d take that seriously,” Bruce said. “But I’m glad you did.”

Clark grinned. “Speaking of things you said tonight…” He turned on his side, looking down at Bruce, who was listening expectantly. “You mentioned a ‘round two’?”

* * *

“Bruce.”

Clark put a hand on Bruce’s back and shook him a little. Bruce grunted into the pillow his face was currently buried in, but otherwise, he didn’t react.

“Bruce, I have to leave for work soon,” Clark said. He checked the time on his phone. It was nearly seven. He felt bad kicking Bruce out so early, but he couldn’t skip work. He already had enough trouble keeping his job when he was constantly disappearing to save the world. He was pretty sure Perry would’ve fired him years ago if Lois hadn’t been around to vouch for him.

“Then leave,” Bruce said, still not lifting his head. Clark sighed.

“I need to lock the door behind me when I leave,” he reminded Bruce. “Which means you need to leave too.”

A long stretch of silence passed between them, during which Clark began to wonder if Bruce had fallen back asleep. Finally, though, Bruce spoke. “I’ll climb out your window,” he said.

Clark laughed. He knew Bruce meant it, too. Batman was not a morning person. “Come on,” he said, “We weren’t up that late last night. Not for you, anyway.” Bruce grunted again. Clark leaned forward, planted a kiss on Bruce’s shoulder blade, which was exposed just above the covers. “I made breakfast,” he said.

Bruce sighed, long and melodramatically, and rolled out of bed. Clark grinned and made his way back to the kitchen. Five minutes later, a yawning Bruce followed him. He hadn’t done his hair, and he was wearing his clothes from the night before, which meant he looked less put-together than Clark had ever seen him. It was quite a sight to behold.

“Sit,” Clark said, pulling out a chair at his kitchen table and pushing a plate of eggs and bacon toward Bruce. Bruce sat and started eating, but after a few minutes, he stopped, set his knife and fork down, and stared pensively at the window in front of him. It had an unimpressive view of the adjacent building, which meant Bruce wasn’t admiring the scenery.

“What’s on your mind?” Clark asked.

Bruce didn’t respond at first, but eventually he turned and met Clark’s waiting gaze. “You plan on continuing this…” he gestured between the two of them, and Clark understood what he meant – “this” was their relationship, the kissing and the fucking and hopefully more than that (not that the kissing and the fucking wasn’t good, but Clark would really, _really_ prefer there be more to their relationship than just the physical) – “For the foreseeable future?”

Clark nodded. “I’d like that, yes.” Hopefully Bruce would too, though this line of questioning had him worried. Was this just another one of Bruce’s one-night stands? No, it couldn’t be. Bruce had acknowledged his feelings for Clark, that night on the rooftop of Lex’s building. They hadn’t come all this way, through the set-ups and the misunderstandings and the tension, just for one night of admittedly incredible sex.

Bruce’s next words dispelled Clark’s worries. “Which means eventually…” He sighed, shut his eyes, shook his head. “I’m going to have to tell my kids.” Clark’s eyebrows drew together. He wasn’t sure what Bruce was so concerned about. Sure, Damian would probably be a little disappointed – Clark didn’t think Damian liked him very much, though it was hard to tell with that kid – and Jason would tease them relentlessly, but he was pretty sure Bruce’s children would all be accepting of their relationship. But two words from Bruce cleared things right up: “Including Dick.”

Ah. Dick. Dick, who’d tried to set them up with each other in the first place. Dick, who’d been the start of this emotional roller coaster ride they’d both ridden.

Yeah. That might be awkward.

“He’s never going to let you live it down, is he?” Clark asked, chuckling at the thought. Bruce shook his head again.

“Never.”


End file.
